Black Wife
by FakeName13
Summary: Someone is killing the nobles. The police have no leads. The only witness is a bitter, sarcastic maid with first-hand experience in the Underworld, which makes Ciel Phantomhive promptly snap her up...through a demon's contract. In order to fulfill his young Master's orders, Sebastian Michaelis is forced to marry a human woman-worse, a human woman who absolutely hates him.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note:_

 _Warning: This story contains numerous OCs._

 _Some information may be historically inaccurate._

 _I own nothing._

Someone is killing the nobles.

Nobody knew who.

So the Queen's Guard Dog was brought in.

Ciel, Earl of Phantomhive, frowned at the papers and files that had been sent in. In less than a month, six nobles had been killed with no witnesses and seemingly no evidence. The killer didn't seem to care who was killed; everyone was a target, as long as they were an aristocrat: counts, earls, dukes, viscounts, marquises, ladies, lords…Every noble was a target, even himself. And with no witness, well…Ciel was at a loss.

The crime scenes were just as varied as their victims. There had been a murder at a ballroom, a murder at a restaurant, a murder in an alleyway, a murder in a theatre, a murder in a street…All places where someone should have been seen, where there should have been at least one witness. The weapons were all different too: a knife, a gun, poison…This case made it painfully obvious that there were many ways to kill someone, a fact made doubly clear especially as the Earl of Phantomhive could be a possible target.

"What do you suggest?" Ciel asked Sebastian Michaelis, his butler. "Isn't there anything that you can do?"

Sebastian shook his head.

"In most cases such as this one, I would recommend to put you in deliberate danger, but with such murderers as these…"

"…Not only would I probably die, you probably wouldn't see the murderer yourself," Ciel finished and sighed. "So what do we do?"

"We should wait for the Yard to contact us with evidence, or the Undertaker with information on the bodies."

"But we can't wait forever! The nobles are bound to rebel sooner or later for their safety, and even the Queen is at risk." Ciel shuddered at the thought of the Queen being murdered and him being unable to prevent it. "Go and find a witness or two."

Sebastian resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"My Lord, might I remind you that you've sent me out for the past three nights searching for a witness."

"And?"

"And the answer is the same. I still haven't found anything or anyone."

Ciel was silent, thinking.

"Do you suppose that…the murderer…isn't…human?" He mused.

"It's possible," Sebastian admitted. "But based on the lack of evidence, I can say nothing with full confidence."

"So we have to have a witness," Ciel sighed. "A competent witness who can provide us with evidence. That or we need evidence, which we don't have, because Scotland Yard is incompetent and the Undertaker hasn't discovered anything that nobody knows already."

The situation seemed bleak; forget bleak, it seemed hopeless. These crimes seemed to be too good, too skilled, too well-thought out. It must have been a criminal mastermind to plot them and continue with them. Ciel Phantomhive flipped through the files again. He didn't know where else to look. He had looked most everywhere: investigated the Yard, the victim's families, the crime scene…Where else was he to search? Where else could he find information? He was looking his hardest already!

As is so common, the answer to all of his problems was directly in front of him. As a human, he was blind to it. But he would find the solution soon enough. It was close to him. In fact, he would be meeting it in less than a week.


	2. Chapter 2

If someone had asked Eleanora Black what she wanted in life, she would have said something along the lines of:

"Nothing much. Just a well-built house in a scenic countryside, far away from people with good relations with the neighbors."

If someone had asked, "what about children?" she would have answered, quite snappishly,

"What _about_ children?"

If someone had mentioned a husband, she would have said,

"Husbands are worse than children. A kid's not going to lie to you and cheat on you and take your money and then run off with some whore three months after the wedding."

Eleanora Black did not have an optimistic view on people.

But it didn't matter anyway, because nobody really asked Eleanora anything, let alone what she wanted. She didn't mind so much; she was usually too busy to bother with silly questions anyway. If someone had asked her the above questions just out of the blue, she would probably have looked at them and said,

"…Wut?"

Then she would have said something telling them to back off and stop asking her stupid questions.

Eleanora did not have much of an optimistic view on people, but one could forgive her that, because she didn't have much of an optimistic life.

Her parents had died shortly after she was born, forcing her to jump around orphanages in the most destitute parts of town, where she learned several valuable life lessons that she had never forgotten:

1\. Life sucks.

2\. Then you die.

There were others, of course, but the first two were the ones that Eleanora constantly remembered. When she was about ten, she had been able to sneak into a Barnardo's home, where she learned how to cook and clean and sew and shut up—all the essentials for becoming a maid. She graduated at eleven and was promptly snapped up by an old prosperous French lady—the one who had really named her Eleanora.

 _"Ma chère dame,"_ she would say, _"vous êtes plus belle que les étoiles et un jour vous allez rencontrer un bel homme qui vous aime tendrement et puis vous marier et vivre heureux pour toujours."*_

Then Eleanora would nod and curtsey and offer more tea.

The old French lady was the only one who had ever been really kind to Eleanora. She was the one who had taught her how to speak other languages, cultivated her artistic skills, applauded her singing. She was the one who gave her the name "Eleanora." She could still remember the day so well...

 _"Dame,"_ she had said. "Dame" was "lady" in French; the only nickname that Eleanora tolerated. _"Vous êtes trop belle pour ce joli visage nécessite un joli nom. Vous aimez Eleanora? Oui. J'aime le nom Eleanora. Vous êtes maintenant Eleanora."**_

And Eleanora had nodded and curtseyed and obliged the lady with a French song.

It was a bitter blow to Eleanora the day that the lady's son came from France to take her back home.

 _"Ma belle dame,"_ the lady had said. _"Vous êtes trop belle pour ce monde. Un jour, un bel homme vous aimera et vous serez marié et être aimé et vivre heureux. N'oublie jamais cela."***_

Eleanora had nodded and curtseyed and tried not to cry when the lady left.

She jumped around jobs for a time. No one really wanted her because she was too educated for a servant. She could speak French better than her masters; she read Shakespeare; she could polish the silver and open bottles of wine.

The French lady had written for her a letter to her future employers, describing how good and hard-working and competent she was, praising her drawings and her voice and her vast amounts of intelligence. The letter was very flattering, but Eleanora learned to hide it. It scared off the employers; they preferred having a stupid ugly maid to a clever ugly maid.

What really got Eleanora hired was her physical beauty—or rather, lack thereof. She was too thin, with huge blue eyes and black hair. She looked like a skeleton—a creepy, living, maid skeleton. And the employers loved that. The best maid of all was the dumb ugly one, so that she would never show up her bosses.

Eleanora jumped around less now, slowly crawling her way to the top. She was now in the employment of a middle-class family as a maid. Middle-class families were odd—most of them were fairly kind, but they were also fairly stupid. They were so desperate to prove themselves as higher than the lower-class, vainly trying to mimic the upper-class, that they did anything and everything and listened to all the garbage the magazines and books told them.

But Eleanora had no right to complain. She knew very well that most people that came from her place of birth didn't have the same luxuries that she had. They didn't have three meals a day and a roof over their heads and a regular salary. So she tried not to complain.

 _"Ma belle Eleanora, rappelez-vous qu'un jour vous sera aimé."****_

 _"Yeah, right."_

*My dear lady, you are more beautiful than the stars and one day you'll meet a handsome man who will love you and then you'll get married and live happily ever after."

**You are too beautiful for this world. A pretty face requires a pretty name. Do you like Eleanora? Yes. I like the name Eleanora. You are now Eleanora.

***My beautiful lady, you are too good for this world. And one day, a handsome man will fall in love with you and you shall be loved and get married and will live happily ever after. Never forget that.

****My beautiful Eleanora, remember that one day you will be loved.


	3. Chapter 3

Another murder. This was getting ridiculous. And Scotland Yard still didn't know a thing.

This time it was a countess who had been killed in the bath—someone had mixed a snake in with her bath salts. No witnesses saw anyone, no one had access to the bath salts all day, no one even knew that she was dead until the maid came in to change the towels.

It was so infuriating! Infuriating and irritating and humiliating! Here he was, the Queen's Guard Dog, and he couldn't even _do_ anything!

"Did you _really_ find _nothing_?" Ciel snapped at his butler. Sebastian shook his head, just as vexed as the young master was.

"Nothing my Lord. I'm sorry."

"But how can there be absolutely _nothing_? Even the _professionals_ leave _something_!"

"They must be absolute professionals, then."

"There's no such thing," Ciel said, but the thought still lingered in his mind. Absolute professionals? Inhuman professionals? But Sebastian had told him once that inhuman activities usually leave more traces than human ones. Unless…

"Sebastian, is there something that you're not telling me?"

"No, my Lord."

"I order you to tell me everything you know about this case!—Everything that I don't know, that is."

"Yes my Lord." Sebastian leaned in close and whispered in Ciel's ear, " _Nothing_."

"'Nothing?' You know nothing that I don't know?"

"Yes my Lord."

"But how is that even _possible_?"

"As I said, my Lord, perhaps we're dealing with absolute professionals. And to find an absolute professional…"

"…we're going to need an absolute professional," Ciel finished and then stood up. "Come, let's go."

"Where, my Lord?"

"Outside, away from this mansion. I need to get away from it all for a little bit." 

"Certainly, sir."

Eleanora was out shopping with another maid, pushing her way through the crowds, kicking the occasional shin, hurriedly biting off words that would probably have gotten her instantly fired if anyone had heard her.

The other maid, of course, was no help. She kept on squeaking like a dying rat, hesitantly tapping on shoulders and politely asking people to move.

"E-Excuse me, sir, b-but can you please—?"

"MOVE IT BALDY!" Eleanora shouted in his ear and elbowed him between the ribs, effectively pushing him aside.

"Eleanora!" the other maid scolded. "Now that's not proper behaviour at all, especially for a maid!"

"God, you act like I care," Eleanora muttered and kicked someone in the shin.

"But Eleanora, you…"

"AND YOU'RE ANOTHER YA LITTLE SNOT-NOSED PUNK!"

"But Eleanora, how are you planning on meeting someone nice and gentile if you go on swearing like that?"

" _That_? _Swearing_? That was barely an insult! Believe me, when I swear, you'll never confuse swearing again."

"But think of your future!"

"I _am_ thinking of my future. What do you think the missis will do to me if I don't get all these groceries? Trust me, this is the only way to get things done— _MOVE_ IT YA BOZO!"

Unfortunately, despite Eleanora's best efforts, by the time all the grocery shopping was done it was already very dark outside. Eleanora looked around for a bit, checked the time, and promptly started striding towards an alley.

"What are you doing?!" the maid said, running towards her. "Where do you think you're going?!"

"Me? I'm going home. It's late and I'm tired and I'm probably going to get yelled at for bringing the groceries home late."

"Well, why don't we just go home the normal route? It's quick."

"It's not quick _enough_. If we go _this_ way, with luck we'll get in time for only a half-hour's scolding."

"But alleys are dangerous! Especially at night. There could be homeless people and rats and all sorts of nasty diseases and…"

"Nothing I haven't dealt with before," Eleanora said, waving her hand aside. "Now, are you coming with me or going alone?" 

The maid took several steps back.

"Suit yourself. You'll see me back at the house." And she strode confidently into the alleyway, passing two men gesturing over a newspaper.

"Did you hear? _Another_ murder!"

"Simply dreadful! A countess in the bath!"

"Boy, I'd pay good money to see _that_!"

They laughed.

"They say that the Queen has sicced her Guard Dog on the murderer."

"The Queen's Guard Dog! Ruler of the underworld!"

Eleanora scoffed as she passed them. The Queen's Guard Dog indeed, the so-called "ruler of the underworld." Another title bestowed onto some moron who felt underappreciated. He should know that the underworld was un-rule-able. What happened in the underworld stayed in the underworld and no one in the "proper" world above could do anything about it. And this "Guard Dog", whoever he was, was certainly taking his sweet old time in finding the murderer. It was fairly obvious; even _she_ could probably have found him out by now. Or perhaps he was just biding his time. She shook her head. She would _never_ understand the nobility.

She entered the bad part of town, where a man was getting kicked out of a whorehouse, still clutching some woman's ripped corset. She rolled her eyes. Imagine the fuss the Guard Dog would kick up upon seeing something like _that_!

No, the Guard Dog was useless in the underworld; anyone who had ever come close to the underworld could tell him that. Even now, he was probably banging his head on the table, searching for a clue.


	4. Chapter 4

"Ciel, would you please stop banging your head against the table?"

Ciel scowled up at Madam Red and gently rubbed his bruised shin. Someone had kicked it when he was passing through the bustling marketplace.

"But what do I _do_?" he moaned. "What do I do? Where do I look? Who do I ask?"

"Obsessing over things isn't going to help," his aunt said sternly. "Just calm down and let things go as they will."

"If I let things 'go as they will,' all of England's aristocracy will go the way of the dodo—you and I included."

"I sincerely doubt that," Madam Red said. "Just wait until they make a mistake."

"But they haven't made one yet!"

"But they most certainly will. Everyone makes mistakes. You do, I do, Sebastian does…" She glanced suspiciously at the butler, "…probably. The point is, everyone makes mistakes, especially when they get comfortable and confident. The murderer will eventually feel that they are invincible; they'll make one wrong move, and then, bingo! You'll catch them. All you have to do is wait."

"But I'm not sure how much longer I can wait," Ciel complained. "Her Majesty's subjects are being targeted and threatened. Will I have to wait until they come for _me_?"

"Just wait," Madam Red urged and confidently moved a chess piece, resulting in her defeat.

Eleanora was moving quickly through the bad parts of town, easily navigating the twists and turns and expertly heading towards her employer's house. She was comfortable—no one bothered her, she was in familiar territory, she was just about to let herself imagine dinner when she heard a pitiful, weedy cry:

"No, no! Please, no! I'll do anything! I'll pay you anything! Just don't kill me!"

She paused. Someone was getting mugged—mugged or murdered. Not at all uncommon in these parts, and normally she'd just cruise on by, but the person who was apparently being attacked had a voice different from the ones usually heard here—proper English, snobby accent—a nobleman.

Two big butch men appeared out of the darkness, dragging a young, well-dressed man along by his arms.

 _"Shit!"_

Eleanora ducked behind a corner and listened.

 _"It's none of your business; just keep walking and leave and go home; think of dinner think of dinner…"_

The nobleman was still crying and begging for mercy. His offers of rich rewards again made Eleanora pause. Saving a nobleman did have its benefits. She could get money out of it—lots and lots of money. Or she could wait and then steal his wallet. Either way worked.

She carefully crept out of her hiding spot and looked around. The butch men had dumped the nobleman in a dead end, surrounded by three walls and the men blocking the only exit. The nobleman was whimpering and offering vast amounts of wealth—just hearing about it made her lick her lips.

"P-Please, I'll do anything, anything at all! What do you want?!"

One of the men was chewing an unlit cigar; he spat into the street.

"Boss wants you dead," he said gruffly. "So we wanna kill you."

"K-Kill me?" His eyes went wide with shock. "Oh, please don't kill me, please, I'll do anything!"

"Shut up!" the other man shouted and kicked the nobleman in the stomach, immediately crippling the young man. The aristocracy was not known for their toughness. Then the other man kicked the young man in the back, and then in the stomach, and then they lifted him up and began pummeling him with their fists…

They were beating him to death.

Eleanora bit back a groan. She had seen numerous deaths in her lifetime, but beating was always one of the cruelest ways to go—it hurt both the victim and the audience.

The nobleman didn't last long. He went deathly limp about five minutes in. The men kicked his head a couple of times and they turned to leave…

They spotted Eleanora.

"Hey! You!"

She ran.

She ran as fast as she could, using all the tricks she had learned in her life on the streets, making sharp turns, doubling back, kicking over trash cans…They were still following her.

She made another sharp turn and rammed into someone's back.

"Hey! What's the big idea?"

The person had an aristocrat's voice—not the voice of a poor person. They turned around and Eleanora could see the moonlight glinting off of their glasses and their sharp teeth as they grinned.

"Well, and just who might you be?"

Eleanora was about to wonder if the person was a man or a woman when she heard the butch men come running after her.

"She went that way!"

"Quickly! Catch 'er!"

She scrambled to her feet and pushed past the strange man-woman and almost tripped over another dead body—a noblewoman.

The men were coming and the man-woman was asking her questions. She looked around; she knew where she was; she could make it home in five minutes if she ran.

So she ran.

She burst into the kitchen through the back door, tossed aside the basket of groceries, ignored all the protests and demands of the other servants, and ran up the stairs, never stopping until she was in her room with the doors and windows locked. She began to pace the room like a caged animal, pausing and listening at every sound.

The night went by and she began to relax. She had lost whoever had been chasing her. She didn't see anything. She didn't know anything. No one had seen her. She was safe.

She collapsed onto her bed with a sigh. Safe. No one had seen her. No one knew that it was her. She was safe.

Safe.

Madam Red left through the middle of their fifth chess game to answer the telephone. She returned pale and shaking, but with a triumphant look in her eyes.

"What? What is it? What happened?" Ciel asked, already knowing what moves he would make to win.

"That was Grell just now," Madam Red said, sitting back down across Ciel. "And let me tell you, you should listen to your aunt more."

"Why? What happened? What did Grell say?"

"She said," here Madam Red couldn't resist a victorious grin, "She said that she just found your witness."


	5. Chapter 5

The day began normally and then quickly grew incredibly rushed.

Mrs. Standfield—Eleanora's employer—burst into the kitchen suddenly and demanded that a prime lunch be made, fit for the Queen.

"Why?" one of the footmen asked. "What's going on?"

"The Earl is coming!" Mrs. Standfield gasped. "The Earl of Phantomhive!"

 _"What?!_ " chorused four voices. "The Earl of Phantomhive?!"

"You know who that is?" one of the maids said excitedly to Eleanora, who had gone oddly quiet. "That's one of the noblemen rumoured to be the 'Queen's Guard Dog,' ruler of London's criminal underworld!"

"You don't say?" Eleanora said faintly, looking a little ill.

"Well, don't just stand there, Mary Ann, get up and do something!" Mrs. Standfield said to her and ran off to shout orders to her family.

Eleanora nodded weakly and mechanically started making lunch—the best lunch that she knew how to make.

She knew that the Earl of Phantomhive was one of the prime candidates of being the Queen's Guard Dog—a fact that she had never cared about until now. Why here? Why now? Why on earth would a respectable earl—an upper-class—venture down to visit a middle-class home suddenly and for no apparent reason? Could it have something to do with last night? With what she had seen?

No, that was impossible. It was ridiculous to even consider it. The Earl wouldn't bother with a simple maid like her—why, he probably didn't even know that she had been out last night! He knew nothing; he could find nothing; she was in the clear; she had nothing to worry about from the first.

But the Earl, the Earl. Why was he coming?!

Mrs. Standfield had said that the Earl would arrive at around noon, and he was certainly a punctual man. The doorbell rang at 11:59. One of the footmen was sent to open the door while everyone else lined up in the drawing room—Mr. and Mrs. Standfield and their daughter Angelique in front, Eleanora and the rest of the servants behind them.

They couldn't hear anything; the hallway was too far away, but in minute the footman returned, looking very confused and nervous.

"T-The Earl of Phantomhive," he announced, "and company."

Everyone shared a look. _"And company?"_

And then the Earl entered—with company.

If Eleanora hadn't been so nervous she would have laughed. _This_ was the Earl? Some tiny little kid with an eyepatch? She had eaten things bigger than this kid. Perhaps there was a mistake? But no—he had to have been the Earl. He was the only richly-dressed male in the group.

There was an elegant noblewoman with him. She wore a red dress which perfectly matched her red hair and eyes. She had a very nice smile—the smile of someone you could trust.

There were two men standing behind the aristocrats. One of them was a very tall, very handsome man dressed entirely in black. He was smiling, but his smile looked a bit predatory—as if he just wanted to eat them all. The other man was smaller, weedier, more pathetic, with long brown hair tied back with a bit of red ribbon and nervous green eyes behind glasses.

"E-Earl Phantomhive," Mrs. Standfield said in a high, nervous voice. "W-Welcome to our humble home. We are honoured by your presence. I am Mrs. Standfield; this is my husband, Mr. Standfield; our daughter, Angelique."

The Earl and the noblelady bowed.

"Very pleased to meet you," the Earl said. "I am Ciel, Lord Phantomhive; this is my aunt, Baroness Durless-Barnett; my butler, Sebastian; and the Baroness' butler, Grell."

"But please do call me Madam Red," the Baroness said warmly, shaking everyone's hand. "Everyone does."

"Er…Wonderful," Mrs. Standfield said awkwardly. "Th-These are my servants," she gestured to the line behind her. Apparently she didn't think of introducing them. She gave them names, as usual choosing simpler, humbler names over their real ones. "The footmen, Jack (Edward) and James (Jacob). The maids: Rebecca Ann (Bella), Lizzie Ann (Rosalie), and Mary Ann (Eleanora)."

They all curtsied or bowed. When Eleanora straightened up, her eyes met with the Earl's butler. His smile widened and he did another small bow.

The idea was completely ridiculous, but for a few seconds, Eleanora thought that he was bowing specifically to her.

"Well," Mrs. Standfield said, attempting to be cheerful, "Shall we get the servants to bring us tea? Please do sit down," she said, gesturing to the chairs. The Earl and his aunt accordingly sat down. They looked exactly at home, as if they were born to sit in those horrendous middle-class chairs.

Mrs. Standfield giggled and cast an imploring, desperate look at the servants.

"Well? Aren't you going to go down and fetch us some tea?"

They all bowed or curtseyed and began leaving the room.

"Sebastian, Grell, go with them and lend a helping hand," the Earl ordered his servants.

 _"NO!"_ Eleanora thought while the other servants shared a look clearly indicating _"YES!"_

"Well, Earl, this is…very generous of you, um…" Mrs. Standfield said helplessly. Her idea of her having power was slipping away with every second.

The aristocrats' servants bowed and followed the other servants out the door and down to the kitchen. Eleanora tried to ignore them, but as hard as she tried, she couldn't shake the feeling that the butler in black was watching her very intently.


	6. Chapter 6

The Earl's butler, just like his master, made himself exactly at home in the kitchen and was immediately pronounced as one of them. Only Eleanora seemed wary of him—wary of his debonair gentlemanliness and godly looks and perfect perfectness. And that was the best way to describe him: perfect. Perfect in his manners, his dress, perfect in everything he did and said and smiled. The servants, particularly the female ones, were enraptured by him almost instantaneously. Only Eleanora ignored him, focusing only on the tea. The other butler—Smell or whatever his name was—had seemed to disappear. It didn't seem unusual: he didn't seem to be a very noticeable man, as if he was born to be a wallflower.

The butler Sebastian charmed his way into the servants' inner circle in a matter of minutes. Soon they were telling him all of their secrets, how Edward secretly stole jam, how Jacob bought naughty magazines on the sly, how Bella wore pink garters, how Rosalie had a boyfriend, how Eleanora could speak French, how Edward…

…And he just listened politely, nodding and smiling and cracking the occasional joke, sending everyone into peals of laughter. Eventually they got so comfortable with him that they decided to ask him some daring questions:

"Are you married?"

"Do you have a girl?"

"Are you still a virgin?"

He had laughed, a perfect light laugh and changed the subject, eyes twinkling—whether with merriment or malice Eleanora didn't know.

"Hey," Bella said, leaning in excitedly, "I heard that your master's the Queen's 'Guard Dog.' Is this true?"

He laughed again.

"Perhaps," he said, winking. "After all, I am merely a humble butler. How can I possibly know what goes on with my master?"

They laughed at that.

"By the way, have you heard of what's happening with all the nobles?" Jacob said suddenly. "They're all dropping dead like flies! You'd best be on your guard, man. If your master's not careful, you might need to find yourself a new boss!"

They laughed at that.

"No, but really: isn't it just terrible?" Rosalie said. "No evidence, no witnesses, absolutely nothing at all! How on earth are the police going to find out who's doing it?"

The butler smiled to himself and circled the rim of his teacup with a perfect gloved finger.

"I heard," he said delicately, "that there is a witness—just one solitary witness."

The servants gasped and whispered and begged him for more details. Eleanora focused herself entirely on the cake in the oven.

"Just one witness," he said again, smirking at their interest. "Just a rumour, mind you; even _I'm_ not entirely sure if it's true—but the witness is said to be a maid."

More gasps and whispers and jests at the maids' expense.

"A maid," he repeated. "A maid working for a middle-class family. She was found in the 'bad' part of London—running away from someone. She supposedly acted very familiar with the territory…as if she had lived there before…"

"Then it must be Eleanora!" Edward hooted. "Hey, Mary Ann, come here! Tell us: have you seen any nobles being murdered lately?"

Everyone laughed, except for Edward. Eleanora had just given him the finger.

The bell from the drawing room rang.

"That's Mrs. Standfield," Jacob grouched, standing up. "I'll go and see what the old bat wants."

"I'll come with you," Bella said, also standing.

Rosalie remembered laundry that was outside and Edward mumbled something about using the necessary—probably to get out of the same room as Eleanora. Within seconds the room was cleared, leaving only Eleanora…and the butler.

He stood up slowly, almost lazily, and glided his way towards her, while she was buttering bread for the tea, trying to look bored and controlled when in reality she was panicking.

"So…" the butler said, leaning against the kitchen counter and watching her out of the corner of his eye, "fancy there being a witness to such a heinous crime."

"Yes, fancy that," Eleanora said, relieved to hear her voice come out as a churlish growl—her usual tone.

"A maid," he mused. "Just a simple maid, working for a middle-class family…someone who is familiar with the bad parts of town…someone who saw what she shouldn't have seen…Interesting."

"Fascinating," Eleanora said sarcastically. "I think that I shall die of excitement."

Her heart was beating so fast, she was sure that he could hear it.

"Miss Mary Ann…"

" _Eleanora_."

"Oh! I do beg your pardon," he said, smiling as if he didn't really care about her name. "Miss Eleanora. What if I told you that my young master truly _is_ the Queen's Guard Dog?"

Eleanora didn't answer.

"What if I told you that I knew, for a fact, that there truly _is_ a witness?"

Eleanora was having difficulty breathing; she fought to look calm.

"What if I told you," he whispered in her ear, "that I think that _you're_ that exact same witness?"

Eleanora burst out laughing.

"Me? A _witness_? To some noble moron's death?" she snickered in his surprised face. "Get real. If there really is a witness, wouldn't they go straight to the police? Ask the servants, ask the masters, ask anyone; they'll tell you that I hate the police with a passion. I wouldn't go to them if it would save my life."

Eleanora forced a smile at the irony of it all.

"Perhaps you're right," he sounded disappointed. "Perhaps there really is no witness. But then again…" he suddenly leaned in close, pinning her to the counter, "perhaps you're wrong. Perhaps you're just lying to cover something up…Perhaps you actually _do_ know something? Maybe you've seen something? Know something? Come now, Miss Eleanora…" he leaned in, whispering in her ear, "you can tell me…"

She punched him.

She kissed her hurt knuckles and glared at him, who was now on the floor, looking delightfully shocked.

"Firstly," she said, "I am Miss Black to you, punk. Secondly, I know nothing. And thirdly, if I did know something, what the hell would make you think I would tell it to your fat arrogant ass?"

So saying, she gathered up the tea-things and made her way upstairs, striding past him, still looking stunned. Her usual mask of indifference had appeared on her face, but underneath that bored exterior was pure fright. She had just punched an earl's butler. The Earl was the Queen's Guard Dog. They knew that she knew something. They all knew it. She would be dead by evening.

 _"Shit."_

She should have poured something in the Earl's tea. Something to make him…occupied. They had some fine rat poison in the cupboard...But now she was entering the drawing room. Now it was too late.

She forced on a smile and began pouring the tea.

Sebastian stood up and gently touched his eye. She was pretty strong; he already knew that it was a fine purple.

"Grell," he said and the other butler appeared around the corner, looking nervous.

"B-Bassy, your eye…"

"Never mind it," he said and pulled him into the hallway. "Now tell me: _are you sure it's her?"_


	7. Chapter 7

_Author's Note: I'd like to sincerely thank everyone who has read—or is reading—this story and to apologize for the short chapters and slow updates; I'm trying to juggle three stories at once. One chapter will be updated every day or every other day, and again I apologize for the short chapters, which usually end in cliffhangers. Thank you for reading! Really, really thank you!_

She finished pouring the tea and mechanically walked back down to the kitchen, hearing the high, nervous prattling of Mrs. Standfield vainly trying to impress her aristocratic guests—and seeming to fail; the Earl looked absolutely bored and the Baroness looked as if she was trying to enjoy herself…which gave her an expression of pain.

She arrived downstairs and was just about to turn into the kitchen when she heard something being violently slammed against a wall. She ducked behind the wall and peeked out. The butler—that damned butler—had the other butler by the neck and had pinned him to the wall.

" _Focus_!" he hissed, shaking the other butler a bit. " _Focus_! Now are you _sure_ which one it is?"

The other butler—Grell—laughed weakly and fiddled with his glasses.

"W-Well, I don't know; it was so dark in the alley and it all happened so quick…"

Then the butler _growled_. An actual, real, honest-to-mother!-god _growl_. He growled and tightened his grip around the man's neck.

"W-Wait! Wait Bassy! I remember!" the other butler gasped. "She had blue eyes! Yes, I remember distinctly: she most definitely had blue eyes!"

"Blue eyes?"

"Yes."

"You're sure?"

"Positive!"

"Good," the butler sighed and released the other. "Do you have makeup? Powder or something?"

"Hm? Yes. Why?" The other butler rifled through his pockets and brought out a compact, looking confused. The one in black took the compact, opened it, and began covering up his black eye, which Eleanora could see in the compact's mirror. She couldn't resist a grin; that had to have been one of her best punches.

She worried for nothing! There were plenty of middle-class maids in the world with blue eyes; why, there were at least two in this very house! Let's see, Bella had brown eyes and Rosalie had green eyes and—

She felt cold. _She was the only maid with blue eyes_.

 _"Shit!"_

She ducked into the kitchen while the demented butlers were occupied: the black one with his eye, the weedy one watching in adoring fascination. She was pretty sure she saw him drooling.

"But Bassy," she heard him say, "can't you fix it immediately, using your powers or something?"

"No, it's too soon," she heard the other one sigh. "I have to wait and fix it slowly. Here you go; thank you. Now where did that girl go?"

"Oh—I think she's in the kitchen; that old hag wanted some sandwiches."

Eleanora winced and quickly fixed up some food. She wanted to be away from it all and be with as many people as possible—no one would dare to murder someone if there were a lot of people around, even if those people were some crummy middle-classers.

She finished with the food and prepared to run upstairs, she turned the corner and almost ran directly into the Earl's butler.

"Let me help you," he said, smiling. Eleanora blinked up at him. He was truly a master; one could hardly tell that he had a black eye; if she didn't know any better, she would have said that there was never one to begin with. He reached for the tray filled with food and she pulled it back.

"Thank you, I can do it myself," she said sulkily and stomped past him, trying hard not to scream, especially as she heard him following her upstairs to the drawing room, where Mrs. Standfield was still trying too hard to impress the guests, telling all of her horrible middle-class jokes and forcing laughter at them.

"Refreshments, ma'am," Eleanora murmured and set the tray down on the table.

"Hm? Oh, thank you Mary Ann. Go stand over there," Mrs. Standfield absentmindedly waved her over to a corner, which she darted into gratefully. She was here, among people, and though two of those people were enemies, the odds were in her favor that she wouldn't die just yet.

She felt cold again. The Earl's butler was whispering something into his master's ear. The Earl looked surprised, looked up, and their eyes met. Eleanora looked down and tried to turn invisible. She knew without looking that the butler was smirking.

"Is...Is something wrong?" Mrs. Standfield said nervously, fiddling with her fingers.

"Oh, no, not at all," the Earl of Phantomhive said, waving the butler aside. "I confess, Mrs. Standfield, that I had an ulterior motive for coming here." He leaned in seriously. Mrs. Standfield giggled. Eleanora tried not to faint.

"Your household is renowned for having the very _best_ of servants," the Earl continued. "Of course, one can only attribute the lady of the house for their success. I sent my butler downstairs to see if this was, indeed, the case, and he brought back only stellar reviews."

"Well!" Mrs. Standfield said, laughing a half-hysteric laugh. "You know what they say about servants!"

"And what do they say about servants?"

"Well, that…they pick things up…from their…employers?" Mrs. Standfield said hesitantly and quickly changed the subject. "By the way, Lord Phantomhive, have you seen my daughter, Angelique?" The daughter accordingly nodded and smiled. "She's so young and talented and beautiful and yet unmarried; are you aware of any unwed members of the nobility?"

Eleanora rolled her eyes and accidently made eye contact with the butler. He smiled at her, his perfect, predatory smile again and did a small bow.

There was no doubt about it this time: he was specifically bowing to her.


	8. Chapter 8

The Earl of Phantomhive and his unnatural crew left shortly after refreshments were served. To say that Eleanora was relieved would have been a massive understatement; she could have kissed her worst enemy for joy.

Unfortunately, that joy was short-lived. The Earl and company returned the next day.

And the day after that.

And the day after that.

And the day after that.

The butler Grell was as innocuous as ever; nobody cared about him; nobody looked for him; nobody talked about him. Unfortunately, the butler Sebastian was as beloved as ever. The footmen admired him and the maids adored him, and frankly, Eleanora couldn't blame them. She hated to admit it, but he was absolutely perfect. Modest, kind, helping, encouraging, supportive, handsome, good-humoured with an ability to tell a perfect dirty joke followed by a perfect little smirk…He was almost _too_ perfect, which was why Eleanora was suspicious of him.

That, and the fact that she was convinced he was going to murder her in an alley at some point.

He didn't play favorites, although the maids frequently wished that he would—in _their_ favor, of course. He treated everyone equally, helping them, smiling at them, complimenting them…Eleanora also wished that he would play favorites so he would leave her alone. She never talked to any of the servants while he was in the room, so he only cozied up to her when they were both alone in the same room—an occurrence that happened much more times than she wanted.

"Good morning, Miss Black."

"Mornin."

"Can I help you, Miss Black?"

"No."

"Are you sure, Miss Black?"

"Positive."

"If you're sure, Miss Black…"

"Positive."

"If you need something, Miss Black, please don't hesitate to ask."

"Uh-huh."

Then he'd smile his perfect smile and linger for a few moments, irritating and frightening her by turns.

She knew that he knew something about her. She knew that at some point, he would make a move. She knew that, once the move was made, she would never be able to escape. If life was a giant game of chess, she was a queen, able to make whatever moves she wanted to if given the chance, but the other pieces were slowly closing in on her, restricting her available moves, cornering her until the last possible moment…

But not all of her moves had been blocked off yet.

She accidently left a newspaper lying around, a newspaper opened to the "Help Wanted" section, a newspaper which the Earl's butler promptly saw.

"You're considering another occupation, Miss Black?"

"Hm? Oh yes."

"Nearby?"

"Oh, preferably no. I'd much rather go someplace far, far away."

"Oh? Like where?"

"Like darkest Siberia."

He had laughed, his eerie perfect laugh that always sounded as if he was mocking her. It frightened her; she had to make a move quickly; she'd discuss quitting with her employers next week…

The Earl made his move the very next day.

"You know how I said, Mrs. Standfield, that your servants are renowned among the nobility? Well, I have a little problem: I'm going to host a ball and I'm afraid that I'm running low on help…Could you possibly spare a maid?"

Mrs. Standfield, of course, was honored for one of her "specially-trained" servants to help an Earl with his ball, and any doubts that she might have had were instantly erased when Ciel presented her with five invitations: one for each member of the family and two guests.

"In order not to cause friction between the servants," the Earl said to the servants, lined up before him, "my butler shall close his eyes and point at one of you— _randomly._ Sebastian?"

The butler smiled and stepped forward and closed his eyes. Everyone gasped and whispered to each other, each wishing each other luck but praying that they would be one to be chosen. Eleanora couldn't stop staring at the butler; he was still smirking as if he knew a secret.

Mrs. Standfield hushed the servants and the butler raised his finger, moving his arm from side to side, slowly, slowly, before landing on Eleanora.

There were more gasps and whispers and the servants congratulated her, even though they all knew that they were jealous of her.

The butler merely smiled at her while Mrs. Standfield told her to go upstairs and directly pack her things.

"I don't think that it was a random selection at all," she confessed to Bella, who had followed her upstairs.

"Don't be ridiculous; it was perfectly random; he had his eyes closed and everything," she scoffed.

"But I think that maybe, somehow…he knew who to pick…"

"Are you saying that _he_ would have chosen _you_ over _me_?"

Eleanora quickly dropped the subject and packed her things.

The butler held the carriage door open for her, which she ignored and got in without his assistance. The aristocrats and the butler Grell were already waiting for her. Then the black butler got in himself and the door closed, leaving her surrounded by enemies.

She was trapped.

The Earl sighed and stretched.

"Thank god _that's_ over," he said. "I hope I never have to deal with that woman and her brood ever again."

"Now darling," Madam Red said, trying to be diplomatic, "be nice."

"But did you _hear_ her? Putting on airs like that, pretending that she knows everything? Disgusting! It hurt to hear her. I think my intelligence has been significantly lowered just by being in the same room with her."

"I'm sure you didn't have far to fall," the butler Sebastian said quietly, so quietly that only Eleanora could hear. If someone else had said it, she would have probably laughed, but as it were, she remained stony-faced.

"Well, no matter," the Earl said, leaning back in his seat. "Now then, Miss Mary Ann…"

"…That's not my name," Eleanora said, surprising herself. It was rude to correct employers, especially rich powerful employers with butlers that looked like murderers.

"Oh! Really? What is it, then?"

He didn't sound angry; just genuinely interested in knowing her name.

"E-Eleanora Black, sir," Eleanora said hesitantly.

"'Eleanora?' What a pretty name! Isn't that a pretty name, Sebastian?" Madam Red asked the butler, who merely smiled.

"Thank you, milady," Eleanora mumbled.

"Now then, Eleanora," the Earl resumed, "we understand that you have some knowledge concerning the recent murders of nobility. We would be most interested in hearing it, so if you would kindly divulge the information…"

The carriage suddenly stopped.

"Oh, bother!" Madam Red said and stuck her head out the window. "Some kind of jam or something. It'll be over within a minute."

True to her word, the carriage started up a few seconds later.

"So, Miss Eleanora," the Earl said, turning to her corner…

Eleanora was gone.

They looked around for her vainly until Grell pointed out the window:

"Look!"

…And they saw her running like hell away from the street and the carriage, heading directly into a very dark and dangerous alley.

"Move, Sebastian," Ciel growled. "Go bring her back."

Sebastian did a small bow.

"Certainly, my Lord."

And he left the carriage to pursue her.


	9. Chapter 9

Sebastian came back several hours later, looking marvelously displeased with Eleanora tied up and slung over his shoulder.

"You look pretty awful," Ciel commented, staring at his face. It was covered in bruises and cuts and his nose had been bleeding. Sebastian glared at him in response and dumped the maid onto the floor.

Her arms and legs had been tied up and she was gagged. She was also missing her skirt.

"Sebastian!" Madam Red said, horrified. "What did you _do_ to her?"

"I didn't do anything," Sebastian growled. "She forced me to do it."

"Where's her dress? What happened to it? Did you…" She glared at the butler, who glared right back.

"She tore it off and threw it at me to distract me and for it to be easier for her to run. I think it's somewhere in an alley if you want me to find it."

"Well, I don't care if she gave you trouble or not; this is no way to treat a lady; untie her this instant!"

Sebastian rolled his eyes, knelt down next to Eleanora, and untied her. She remained completely stiff throughout the whole thing, but as soon as the last rope was gone, she punched him, sending him flying, and then she leapt on him with her hands around his neck…

He slapped her away and pressed her to the ground. She bit his hand and his grip weakened, allowing her to kick him away and aim for another punch…

The fight continued for a while with Madam Red and Ciel watching it dumbly. Eventually Eleanora was pinned to the ground with her legs being held down by Sebastian stepping on them, with him holding her arms behind her back and with his other hand pressing her head down on the floor.

"Oh…kay," Ciel said hesitantly. "Sebastian, get off of her."

"WHAT? But she…"

"Eleanora," Madam Red said sternly. "I don't know what you think is going to happen to you, but I assure you that no one in this house wants to hurt you in any way, shape, or form."

"Unless, of course, you attack first," Sebastian said, hissing into her ear. She glared up at him.

"Which, I'm sure, that she won't," Madam Red said. "Get off of her."

Sebastian growled again into her ear and hesitantly rose up, allowing Eleanora to stand up as well. She brushed herself off a bit and attempted a curtsey, which was a bit difficult as she truly wasn't wearing a skirt.

"Now then, Eleanora," Ciel said, looking only at her face, "what do you know about the murders of the nobles."

"Nothing, sir," Eleanora said nervously, staring at the floor.

"We know that's not true," Sebastian said.

"Shut up, tootsie," Eleanora snapped at him. Sebastian looked as if he wanted to kill her.

"Now, now, you two, play nice," Madam Red said in a too-cheerful voice.

"Yes, it's not fair to get upset at her because she beat you," Ciel said, looking at Sebastian.

"She fought dirty."

"That's how you _win_ , cupcake."

" _Don't call me cupcake, you little…_ "

"Sebastian!" Ciel said and the butler calmed down, looking a bit penitent but mostly angry.

"Eleanora," Ciel said, turning back to the maid. "We know that you know something. Just tell us what it is and we'll leave you alone."

"But…" she said weakly.

"But what?"

 _"But I don't trust you,"_ she thought. _"I don't trust you and I don't trust your aunt and I especially don't trust your cute little cupcake of a killer butler."_

There was silence and then Madam Red clapped her hands.

"I'm sure that she's tired," she said. "In fact, we all are. So why don't we all go to bed and we'll talk about it in the morning?"

"That's a good idea," Ciel said, standing up. "Sebastian, show the lady to her room."

Sebastian bowed.

"Certainly, my Lord."

"Room? What room?" Eleanora asked, looking around at them all in a panic.

"The room that you're staying in while you'll be living with us," Ciel said. "Where did you think that you were going to sleep? The floor?"

"But…I didn't tell you anything…"

"Yes, but there's still the ball that you have to help us with."

" _What_? _Seriously_? There's an actual _ball_? I thought that you just made that up to…" She broke off, looking nervous.

"No, it's real," Ciel said. "And in fact, we're pretty lucky that you're the one who knows something. Sebastian said that you were the most competent servant in that house—by _far_."

"Oh," she said. "How nice."

"Sebastian, take her to her room."

"Yes sir."

Eleanora looked around; her suitcase was in the room; she grabbed it before the butler did.

"I can take that for you," he said.

"No, it's fine," she said, moving it away from his grasp. He shrugged and left the room, Eleanora following him.

"The servants are already asleep," he called behind him, "but I've already told them about you so we can spare the unnecessary introductions. Here we are:"

He opened a door and went downstairs to the kitchen.

"These are the servants' quarters. Kitchen, storage; the men's rooms are down that hallway," he pointed. "The day starts at 5:00 in the morning, breakfast is at seven, lunch is around one in the afternoon, dinner is around eight and everyone goes to bed at ten. Your room is up here:" There was another staircase leading upwards; they went up and arrived at another hallway filled with rooms. "This is Mey-Rin's room; she's another maid; this is Grell's room, and this…"

"Wait, why is Grell's room up here? Shouldn't he be downstairs with the men?"

"Usually, yes, but not in this case."

"But why is he up here?"

"To ensure the safety of the other men," Sebastian said darkly and opened up another door. "And this is your room. The bathroom's to the side; everyone gets their own; I expect you downstairs and ready to work at around 5:30; do I make myself clear?"

"Yes sir. Thank you."

Sebastian nodded and prepared to leave.

"Sir?"

"Yes?" He turned back.

"Am I really…safe here?"

"Of course."

"Nobody will hurt me?"

"Yes."

"No one will kill me?"

"Goodness, no! What on earth gave you _that_ idea?"

"Oh, alright. Thank you sir."

Sebastian nodded again.

"Sir?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry that I hit you."

"Oh!" he turned to look at her, surprised. "Oh—It's…nothing, really. Don't…worry about it; I've had worse."

"No, but I truly am very sorry for hitting you and fighting you and kicking you and biting you…And I'm sorry that I called you a cupcake."

"It's alright," he said, smiling. "Don't worry about it."

"If you're sure…"

"I'm positive. Good night, Miss Black."

"Good night sir."

Sebastian nodded and finally left, leaving Eleanora alone in the room. She looked around, trying to grasp what had happened to her. She was now working as a temporary maid for an Earl. Her life wasn't in danger (yet) and she still had a job. She wondered about all the luxury around her; the room was huge and it had its own bathroom. Her room at Mrs. Standfield's was about the size of a closet and everyone shared the bathroom…if you could call it a "bathroom," that is. The butler was still creepy but now less so, as she knew how professional he was. Besides, now he deserved her respect, as he was now her boss.

She sat down on the bed and marveled at its softness. She hadn't had such a nice mattress in a _very_ long time; it bounced a bit and everything. But what was she to do about the information? She couldn't remain silent forever.

 _"I'll tell the Earl when the time is right,"_ she thought to herself. _"Sometime when the time is right."_

She prepared herself and went to bed, secretly praying that the time would never be right.


	10. Chapter 10

Eleanora woke up bright and early at the usual time and wondered where she was.

 _"Oh,"_ she remembered weakly, _"I'm at Phantomhive."_

She groaned and got up, already imagining all the horrible things that could happen today. She could be tortured for information. She could be killed by the butler. She could accidently make the wrong meal that the Earl would request.

She prepared herself and went downstairs. The house was eerily silent.

The butler was in the kitchen, fixing some clothes. He looked up, surprised, upon hearing her.

"Oh, you're already awake? I wasn't expecting you for another hour."

"What—really? The servants for such a grand estate don't wake up early?"

"They do—just not _this_ early. Well, no matter. You're up now. Would you like something to eat?" He stood up, as if ready to make her something.

"Oh no, I'm fine," she said quickly. Food was perfect for poisonings, especially if someone else had made it. "I'm ready to work."

"Really? Now? If you're sure." He tossed aside the clothes and began walking away, Eleanora following him. He rapped his knuckles against a closet in passing.

"Here is where we keep the cleaning supplies," he said and went upstairs. He opened a pair of double doors to a huge room. "And this is the ballroom. Since you're up so early, you can get started on cleaning it. The maid will come and help you once she's finished with her other duties."

"'The maid?' Is there just one?"

"Just the one, not including Grell. He can help you too."

"How many servants does the Earl employ?"

"Five, including me: the maid, the gardener, the cook, the steward, and I, the butler. There are also two servants who visit with their masters and also assist: Grell and another butler."

"Charming," Eleanora said. _"Mrs. Standfield would employ more people if she had the money, and here is an Earl, with the money, with no desire for employees! The whole place is full of freaks; I have to be more careful."_ Eleanora tried not to groan; she was already acting as careful as she could.

The butler began to leave and called behind his shoulder,

"Breakfast, as I said, is as seven. I expect punctuality."

"Yes sir," she said, looking around at the ballroom. _"Well, no sense in staring. I might as well start working."_

"Has the girl confessed to anything yet?" Ciel asked Sebastian when he came upstairs to wake him up.

"No sir; she's been working all day."

"Diligently?"

"I assume so; I haven't checked up on her yet."

"I see," Ciel murmured and fell silent for a time. "Sebastian?"

"Yes?"

"Send the girl up to me after she has eaten. I want to talk to her about the case."

He bowed.

"Certainly, sir. If that is all, sir, I shall meet you later."

"Yes…"

Sebastian bowed again and left the room, thinking about the best way to get the maid to talk if she refused to cooperate. Hopefully she would; she seemed smart enough, but then again, one could never tell with humans, particularly human women.

He passed the ballroom and heard a voice straight from the depths of hell.

He paused, listening. _Such_ a voice! Who was it? Mey-Rin? He wasn't so sure that she could sing, let alone sing so beautifully. Grell? Nonsense, Grell couldn't sound so lovely if his life depended on it. Perhaps someone was playing a record? That was possible.

He peeked into the ballroom.

The maid—what was her name again?—was washing the floor on her hands and knees, singing to herself. He didn't know why she was on her hands and knees; they had a perfectly good mop; but it didn't matter; whatever got the job done.

He entered the ballroom and leaned against the wall, listening. No, but it truly was beautiful. She could have sung at the opera. But what was her name again? Mary Ann? No, it was Eleanora.

He didn't realize it at the time, but this was absolutely new to him. It normally took him a month or three to remember a name by himself—and that was if he tolerated the person enough. Normally in his mind he would refer to them as "the moron's butler" (Agni), "the maid" (Mey-Rin), "the pervert" (Grell) and so on and leave it at that, but he had remembered Eleanora's name on his own after about two weeks of meeting her. He didn't know it yet, but this was significant progress. After all, he had been with the Earl of Phantomhive for two years and still referred to him as "that brat."

Eleanora turned around and noticed him. She immediately stopped singing and sprung up to her feet, dusting off her dress and curtseying.

"Good morning, sir," she said. "Is uh—is everything alright?"

"Fine…"

Eleanora twirled a lock of her hair.

 _"Dammit, why is_ he _here? Did I mess up already? *gasp* Maybe I'm cleaning it wrong? Did I screw it up? Shit, I just_ got _here and I'm already ruining things!"_

"Sir?"

"Ah—yes?"

"Is…Is something wrong? Did I—Did I make a mistake?"

"Hm? Oh no. Carry on. You're doing very well."

Eleanora hesitantly nodded and got back down on her knees and continued washing the floor. Sebastian waited. She didn't seem to want to sing anymore for some reason. What a pity. He turned to leave; she held back a sigh of relief.

"By the way," he said, "the Earl wants to see you in his study after you have eaten breakfast. He'll expect you at seven-thirty."

"What? Really?" _"Perfect."_ "Of…course. I'll go directly after breakfast."

Sebastian nodded and left. Eleanora went back to cleaning, swearing under her breath.


	11. Chapter 11

Eleanora was silent throughout breakfast. She realized that the other servants were very kind and friendly and wanted to make her feel at home. However, she also realized that they had no idea of the things that she knew and the trouble that she was in. The butler hadn't presented them with this information and clearly had no intention to. He didn't eat breakfast; he had sat at the table with the rest of them and finished mending the clothes.

She didn't eat much and when she was done, the butler led her to the Earl's study, where he was sitting at a desk that was too big for him, flipping through some files and papers.

"Miss Black, my Lord," the butler said when they entered. The Earl looked up.

"Hm? Oh, good! Could you please come closer, Eleanora?"

Eleanora winced but obediently walked up until she was directly in front of him. He set aside his papers and looked at her intensely.

"Eleanora," he said seriously, "we know that you've witnessed a murder of a noble. If you could just tell us what you know, you'll be doing your Queen and your country a great service."

Eleanora couldn't hold back a scoff. Queen. Country. What had they ever done for her? She had to work for everything good that had happened to her; no one had helped her in the slightest.

"You'll be assisting justice. And we'll give you a significant amount of money in exchange for your services."

She perked up. Money?

"How much, sir?" she asked cautiously. He told her. "Oh." That was quite a lot of money; almost triple the amount she made in a week. "So…all I have to do is tell you what I saw?"

"Yes," Ciel said. "I assure you that we'll guarantee your protection afterwards as well."

Eleanora thought about it and slowly nodded.

"Alright," she said. "I'll tell you. But only you." She glanced pointedly at the butler; the Earl quickly got the hint.

"Sebastian, leave the room and don't eavesdrop."

The butler did not look entirely pleased with this development, but he bowed and left the room anyway, glancing at the maid as he passed, who ignored him. Once they were properly alone, Ciel invited her to sit down, which she did.

"Now," he said, "tell me everything you saw."

She told him.

About taking a shortcut through the alley, about hearing the pleas of the noble, about watching him get beaten to death, about running away from it all…The Earl listened politely and earnestly and didn't interrupt until she was finished.

"What did the men look like?" he asked when she was done. "Were they tall, fat, skinny, noble, poor, did they have a mustache, facial disfigurements?"

"N-No, they looked just like ordinary thugs…Do you have a pencil and a piece of paper, my Lord?"

The Earl, confused, found the items and handed them over. Eleanora bent over the paper and spent about five minutes on it before handing it back. She had drawn a rather detailed sketch of the two men glaring at the viewer, with the beaten-up corpse of the nobleman in-between them.

"I see," Ciel said, getting excited. "I see. Eleanora, there's a bell over there; could you please kindly ring it?"

She did so and the butler Sebastian appeared in minutes.

"Yes sir?"

"Sebastian, come here and look at this," Ciel said, impatiently waving the paper at him. He walked over and examined the paper.

"This is…"

"This is a sketch of the murderers, done by Eleanora," Ciel said. "Isn't it good? You could find them using this, right?"

"Normally, I wouldn't be able to by a humble drawing," Sebastian said, looking at the paper with interest, "but this is a remarkably good image. I'm sure that I could find them by tonight."

"Check the rich people's brothels," Eleanora suggested. Everyone looked at her.

"The rich people's brothels?" the Earl repeated. "Why?"

"Well, if I may speak, my Lord," Eleanora said, blushing, "these men were clearly hired by some rich guy to kill this other person. They're simple commoners—more than that, they're men. Doubtless they'll be blowing their hard-earned money on two things: booze and bitches. And of course, with all the money that they've been given, they're not going to go to the average whorehouse. They'll be going first-class all the way."

"How do you know all this?" Ciel asked. Eleanora shrugged.

"Whenever I was down on my luck," she said, "and I couldn't get a job as a maid anywhere, I would go to the high-class brothels and work there as a brawler. You won't believe the amount of drunken idiots who try to sneak in there and abuse the workers. That's where I would come in: I would stop these guys from entering or, if they were inside, I would take them outside and thrash the absolute shi—I mean, I would beat them up and make sure that they wouldn't dare to enter the establishment again. And I was paid well for it—there's good money in brawling, especially if you're working for the higher-class. And if you were paid to actually _kill_ someone, that's even better money. And I know the ways of men, especially poor men; they'll be drunk as lords by this time tonight."

"But you never know; they could be nobles in disguise."

"Ridiculous; no noble could act like a beggar so well unless they've spent the majority of their lives in poverty. Besides which, a noble wouldn't use such crass means to kill a person; they'd think of something else."

"So it wasn't orchestrated by a noble; it was all planned by the lower-class?" Ciel was getting more excited.

"No, it was planned by a noble." The Earl crashed again. "Some noble paid these guys to go and kill this other man and so they went and did it."

"But this noble didn't tell the men how to kill him?"

"They probably told them to keep it discreet and make it look like an accident, which they did. The poorer people are much more acquainted with death than the nobility, sir."

"How is beating someone to death an accident?"

"First they dragged the noble to the bad part of town, where everyone gets thrashed at some point in their life. And sometimes, if the thrasher is drunk enough, the thrashed can actually die from a beating. There are thousands of dead bodies just lying around everywhere from these occurrences. No one in the bad part of town would question it; the corpse would only be discovered when the nobles go looking for it. And if the corpse has been robbed, that also automatically gives an incentive, which makes the poorer people question it less."

"But you said that the men didn't rob the body."

"They didn't; someone else would come along and do it for them."

"How do you know that for sure?"

"I've seen it happen all the time." She shuffled a little. "I've done it myself a couple of times," she mumbled.

" _What_? You've stolen money off of _dead bodies_?"

"The dead are easy targets," Eleanora defended herself. "The corpse isn't going to rise up and clobber you for taking their wallet. Besides, if it's an emergency, I'll be needing that money more than it will, right? What—they gonna charge a toll for entering the pearly gates? Bread ain't cheap and the dead ain't gonna be usin' their mouths for a while so I might as well make use of mine and avoid _their_ fate for a few more days."

Eleanora blushed upon realizing her crass speech and quickly mumbled an apology. The Earl kept on thinking.

"Sebastian."

"Yes?"

"Go and find these two men and ask Scotland Yard to interrogate them. I would follow Eleanora's advice, so go and check the brothels first."

"Yes my Lord."

"Thank you Eleanora," the Earl said. "As promised, you'll be receiving some money for your help and you'll be allowed to leave as soon as this wretched ball is over and done with. You may go."

Eleanora curtseyed, thanked them, and practically ran out of the room, leaving the Earl and his butler alone.

"Sebastian?"

"Yes?"

"This Eleanora seems to be remarkably clever."

"Yes sir."

"She seems to know a lot about the world of poverty and of human nature."

"Yes sir."

"Added to that, she's also an excellent fighter. She was able to pin _you_ down once or twice."

"She cheats, sir."

"Which shows that she's not above using immoral means to get what she wants." Ciel paused for a moment. "She could be useful for Phantomhive."

"Perhaps."

"Sebastian, keep watching this girl. I have a feeling that we'll have need of her services again."

Sebastian bowed and left the room to find the murderers.


	12. Chapter 12

The murderers, as Eleanora had predicted, were found in a high-class brothel. Arresting them had been easy—they were so drunk that all Scotland Yard had to do was walk them to the carriage. They had promised Phantomhive that they would tell him everything once the men had confessed, but it was taking them a while to sober up. Meanwhile, the servants were assisting with the ball.

Sebastian truly had gotten lucky. He had hired other maids before, all of which he had then fired. They might have been competent, they might have been good, hard workers, but all of them had cleverly hidden it. Apparently, they all thought that the way to a butler's heart was through behaving like a giggly silly twit who couldn't stop batting their eyelashes. They needed help with _everything_ —from doing the laundry to washing the dishes to cutting up vegetables…The kicker was the one who kept on falling down and always needed "assistance" to get back up again, all while giggling and saying cutesy, annoying things like "silly me!" and "oh, I'm _such_ a klutz!" It was so irritating that eventually Sebastian stopped helping her up and instead just walked on right by her, and when she said something like "oh, I'm _so_ clumsy!" he agreed and told her to stop behaving so stupidly and do something worthwhile with her time. This made her burst into tears and run to her room, and then she got upset because he didn't chase after her to console her. As if he was obligated to fall in "love" with every pretty face that came his way. Yawn.

Eleanora wasn't like that. Like him, she seemed to hate incompetence of any kind. She would frequently "assist" the other servants, only it was mostly her doing their jobs for them because she knew that—somehow—they were going to mess it up anyway. One time, he caught her trying to teach the young Master how to tie his shoes.

"But I don't _need_ to know!" he had protested. "I know lots of other things; they balance it out!"

Eleanora had scoffed.

"My Lord, if you're kidnapped, what's going to save your life: you telling them the year that William the Conqueror ascended the throne of England or you being able to properly tie your shoes so that you can effectively run away?"

The young Master didn't have an argument for that, and the next day, he had demonstrated how he could tie his shoes. Eleanora had clapped for him while Madam Red had cheered and then the next day he had forgotten all over again and Eleanora didn't have the patience to teach him again. Sebastian found the whole thing quite amusing and actually sided with Eleanora when the young Master complained (not that he told the Earl or anything).

Working with her was—surprisingly—tolerable. They had spent many hours together, making dinner in companionable silence, interrupted every now and then by questions:

"Where's the salt?"

"Where did you put the flour?"

"Can I see the recipe again?"

He wasn't so sure that he could have handled working with another "cute" maid. Eleanora didn't blink excessively, she didn't downplay her abilities, she didn't try to make herself look like a fool in order to endear herself to others. She swore every now and then, but it was always very quiet and she usually apologized immediately if someone had heard her.

She had major trust issues; she didn't like talking to anyone if it didn't involve work in some way; she seemed desirous _not_ to make any friends. This was more than fine with Sebastian; he didn't want to make friends with her either. She was a good, capable worker and that was enough for him.

The ball arrived and all of the servants were forced to enter the party and assist with things. Eleanora had always been a bit of a wallflower at parties, so she just stood to the side and didn't move until it seemed that someone needed her help. She fought back a sigh and tried to look blank; she didn't think that she could pull off an interested look. She hated parties.

There was a young gentleman in front of her, talking to a group of people, laughing. Eleanora didn't pay any attention to the conversation until the young man said that he had to use the necessary. She prepared herself for the question on where it was, but the man had completely ignored her and walked away. She followed him with her eyes and realized that he wasn't going to the necessary—rather, he was going upstairs, to the young Master's study.

 _"This should be interesting,"_ she thought and followed him.


	13. Chapter 13

The young man went directly into the young Master's study, looking nervous. Eleanora hid behind the door to watch but not be seen. She saw the man reach into his pocket and bring something out, carefully putting it on the Earl's chair. Then he quickly walked out and re-entered the ball, head down, trying to remain inconspicuous.

When she was sure that the man was gone, she darted into the study and examined the chair. The man had placed a tack on the chair—typical joke. She was about to dispose of it and have it done with when she recalled the recent murders of the nobility—no evidence, no witnesses, no suspects. For all she knew, this could be an attempt on the Earl's life. She couldn't tamper with evidence like that, but at the same time, she couldn't let the Earl sit down on it.

She had to go and get help and advice. She ran back down to the party and desperately located the butler. He was standing in a group of ladies, politely listening to their flirting efforts. He was smiling, but it was so obviously fake that he looked just like a statue—just a bland, smiling statue. Eleanora wondered how the women could miss that he was clearly not interested.

She carefully pushed her way through the throng and managed to find his sleeve. She tugged on it anxiously.

"Sir? Uh…Sir?"

He ignored her; he probably didn't hear her or thought that she was another woman clamoring for his attention.

"Sir? Sir! Listen, something's off, I need your help…"

The Earl walked by and the butler moved off to talk to him. Eleanora almost swore in frustration and fought down a wave of panic. It was rude to talk to the Master in public; she would have to wait until he was alone or at least to the side or something.

She eavesdropped a bit; the Earl had something to discuss with Sebastian; they were going _to the study._

 _"Well, !,"_ she thought and grabbed a platter of champagne from a nearby table. She strode towards the Earl and the butler, acting as ditzy as she could without appearing drunk, bumping into people and giggling.

"Oopsie! Please excuse me! My, but this floor is slippery, isn't it? I'm afraid that I'm going to…"

She "tripped" and spilled champagne on the Earl. Everyone gasped and murmured and the Earl was just dumb with surprise and the butler looked at her as if he was seriously considering murder but Eleanora had seen the young gentleman in the crowd—the one who had placed the tack—and she "accidently" "tripped" again and spilled the remainder of the champagne on him, landing on the floor.

The butler immediately restored order, apologizing profusely and assisting the gentleman and the Earl out of the ballroom, Eleanora "meekly" following behind.

"S-Sir, I'm so sorry," she said in the sappiest tone she could.

"It's fine; don't worry about it," the Earl sighed. "I'll change once I've finished talking with Sebastian. Come." And he began walking _towards the study_.

 _"Shit!"_

"Eleanora, attend to the gentleman; get him a new suit of clothes," the Earl called over his shoulder.

The gentleman smiled shyly and plucked her sleeve.

"That's right; if it's not too much trouble, ma'am, I would appreciate it if…"

Eleanora snapped into action; she grabbed his arm and began running after the Earl.

Sebastian was remarkably displeased. His party—which he had so carefully planned—was ruined. And it was all the fault of that _idiot_. He had been wrong about her. He thought that she was competent…No. She was just another moronic maid. He couldn't wait to have her leave the manor…

They arrived in the study with the Master talking about this-and-that, he was just about to sit down…

 _"Don't sit in that chair! Don't sit in that chair!"_

Eleanora burst into the room, dragging along with her the very confused man. Sebastian didn't think that he could get angrier, but it was absolutely possible.

"What are you doing here?" he asked icily. Eleanora leaned against the doorway.

"Don't sit down," she panted. "Don't…sit…down."

The young Master hadn't sat down. He frowned at her.

"What? Why? What's going on?"

"Young Master, there's a ta—"

There was a loud sound and Eleanora felt a sudden, sharp pain in her side. She got a little weak and gently touched her side. Her hand came away red.

The gentleman looked absolutely horrified.

"B-Blood? Is that b-blood? I c-can't s-stand b-blood; take it away from me…"

The Earl and his butler were looking shocked as well. Eleanora slowly turned her head to look behind her.

There was a man in the hallway, a man with a rifle. Upon realizing that he had been spotted, he stood up and ran away.

 _"Oh,"_ Eleanora thought, _"I've been shot."_

"Sebastian!" the Earl shouted. "Go get that man!"

Eleanora nodded and dazedly stepped aside for the butler to run out the door. She let go of the gentleman who fell to the floor, whimpering and staring at her dress, which had a slowly growing red stain on it. The Earl grabbed the gentleman and pointed a gun at him.

"Who are you?" he demanded. "Who told you to do this? Why are you trying to kill me?"

The man started blubbering.

"I-It was just a prank, I swear, my Lord! J-Just a harmless little prank; I didn't think that there would be blood…"

Somewhere in the distance there was a gunshot.

"Here, let me—" Eleanora said.

She grabbed the gun out of the Earl's hand and chased after the two men, her fist firmly jammed into her side.

Sebastian intercepted the gunman in a hallway, leaving him trapped, unless, of course, he would want to go backwards, which he didn't seem to want to do. The butler frowned and reached into his pocket for the silverware, fully prepared for gunshots and screams and tears…

The gunman started to grin. He grinned and reached into his pocket with trembling fingers.

"I've heard about you," he whispered. "They say that you can't be defeated. But lucky for me, I just happened to meet two gentlemen yesterday who told me how to beat you…"

He brought his hand from his pocket and held it out, revealing a silver bullet.

Sebastian felt cold.

"Ah, you're scared, aren't you?" the man whispered and slowly loaded his gun with the bullet. "They said that you would be. Nice guys, they both wore glasses…"

 _"Glasses…"_

Something in Sebastian told him to run, but he couldn't. To run would go against his Master's orders, and he was physically unable to do so. He wanted to attack the man but he felt so cold and afraid that he couldn't move; the man raised his gun up as if in slow motion…

There was a gunshot, followed shortly by another gunshot. Sebastian froze and waited for pain; none came but he vaguely realized that the man was screaming and was writhing around on the floor; someone had shot him in the legs and then he saw Eleanora standing behind the man, holding the Master's gun and he sprang into action.

He knelt by the man and quickly began rifling through his pockets and unloading the gun. He was unarmed save for the gun and numerous bullets…Five of these were silver.

Sebastian tremblingly pocketed the silver bullets and weakly nodded to Eleanora as she asked him if he was alright, if he had been shot, if he was _sure_ that he was alright.

He truly was alright. The danger had passed; he had all five of the bullets. He calmed down and grabbed the man's arm. Eleanora grabbed the other and they dragged him back to the study. Sebastian was vaguely concerned about the blood trail on the floor that they were leaving and whether-or-not the party guests would see it and be concerned. He also was aware that he should technically be helping Eleanora, as she was an injured lady, but she seemed to be fine. She panted and moved a bit slower than normal, but they got to the study with no further trouble.

Ciel, upon knowing that the gunman wasn't armed anymore and was now securely tied up, ran back to the ballroom to reassure the concerned guests (who had heard the gunshots) and to find Madam Red to attend to Eleanora and the gentleman (who had fainted).

Eleanora leaned against the wall, far away from the tied-up would-be assassin and watched the butler. He was standing in front of the fire, examining the silver bullets that he had taken from the man. She wondered why he was so worried about them; he treated them delicately, as if he was afraid that they would kill him.

He slid a fingernail around the bullet and the top actually popped off.

 _"No way,"_ she thought. _"It's hollow?"_

He turned the bullet upside-down over the fire and very fine, white powder fell out of it and he shuddered. He did this with every bullet and disposed the now-empty hollow silver shells into the fire as well. Then he turned to Eleanora.

"Does it hurt?" he asked in a surprisingly gentle voice.

"What? Oh…No, it doesn't. I've been shot before; this is a remarkably simple wound," she told him.

Sebastian nodded and then the Madam and the Earl entered. Madam Red saw to Eleanora, fussing over her, while Ciel questioned her.

"You spilled that champagne intentionally, didn't you?"

"Yes sir, I did."

"Why?"

"Because…" she trailed off; everyone was looking at her; it was so awkward… "Because I saw that young man enter your study and put a tack on your chair."

The Earl did not look impressed.

"That's what this is all about? A _tack_?"

"My Lord, someone tried to kill her when she tried to tell you," Sebastian said. He felt as if he should defend the woman. "I think it's worth examining."

"Well, then, go on and examine it."

The butler bowed and went to the chair, coming back with the tack. He smelled it, frowned, carefully licked the tip and looked shocked. He quickly spat into the fire (Eleanora noticed that the fire blazed instead of sizzling, which was odd) and carefully set the tack on the desk.

"It's poisoned, my Lord."

"P-Poisoned?" the gentleman squeaked, who had just regained consciousness. "Th-That's impossible; it can't be poisoned; it was just a harmless little prank…"

"It's a very slow-acting poison," the butler said. "You probably wouldn't have realized that you had been poisoned until sometime later this evening…And without proper medical care, you would have been dead by morning."

"'Dead by morning?'" Madam Red gasped and hugged Eleanora. "You dear, you darling dear, you saved my nephew's life!"

"Saved his life? I wouldn't go that far, my lady; I really was just lucky…"

"The perfect crime," Ciel muttered. "I would just play it off as a harmless joke and would have explained the illness as something else entirely. Then I would be dead by morning, with no evidence and no witness. But why did _you_ decide to do it?" he turned to the gentleman, who blushed.

"I-It was just a joke, my Lord," he mumbled. "Someone got the idea of putting a tack on your chair and then someone gave me the tack and so I…"

"…But who told you to do it? Who gave you the tack?"

"My Lord, I don't remember!" the gentleman said and burst into tears.

"Sebastian, call the Yard," Ciel sighed. "Tell them to apprehend these two."

Sebastian nodded and left the room.

"And you, Eleanora," Ciel said, turning to the maid. "You did very well this evening. Have Madam Red examine you and then you can take the rest of the night off."

"But sir…the ball…"

"We have other servants and besides, I'm not really much in the mood for a party now," Ciel said. "I think I'll cut this ball a little short. You go with Madam Red and get treated."

Eleanora rose with assistance and dropped a small curtsey. She left with Madam Red. A few minutes later, Sebastian came back with the news that the Yard would be arriving shortly, and within a few minutes of that, both the gentleman and the gunman had been apprehended, leaving the Earl and his butler alone.

Ciel sat down in front of the fireplace; he wasn't sure he could trust a chair ever again.

"Sebastian?"

"Yes sir."

"The maid was really clever wasn't she?"

"Yes sir."

"I mean, she successfully faked dumping champagne on us to get both of us out of the party and somewhere more private so that we could talk."

"Yes sir."

"And she's a good fighter," Ciel continued. "She took a gunshot, no problem, and was able to help you with that man. And she's knowledgeable in the bad parts of town—information that could prove useful time and again."

"Yes sir."

"Sebastian?"

"Yes sir?"

"I think she's a valuable asset to Phantomhive."

"Yes sir."

"Your orders:"

"Yes sir?"

"I want that girl to work for me. Make her an offer she can't refuse. I want her tied to Phantomhive for as long as possible."

"Yes my Lord," Sebastian bowed and left the room.


	14. Chapter 14

It was much easier said than done to get Eleanora to work for Phantomhive. The whole process took about a week and a month. During that first week, Eleanora was assisting the other servants clean up after the ball. She was looking forward to the week's end—after it was over, she would get to go back to Mrs. Standfield and the middle-class and her boring, wonderful life. But the butler wouldn't leave her alone, which was very odd and irritating.

He approached her one day, smiling his eerily perfect smile, which was when she realized that something was wrong.

"So, Miss Black," he said, leaning against the kitchen counter while she prepared lunch, "you'll be leaving in a week?"

"Yessir."

"Back to a middle-class life and a middle-class income?"

"Yessir," she said and sighed in anticipation.

"Wouldn't you like to stay here and live an upper-class life with an upper-class income?"

"No sir, I wouldn't like that at all."

He was back the next day with his promises of more money and more benefits. Eleanora was interested in the money aspect of working at Phantomhive, but working at Phantomhive meant working at Phantomhive, which meant that she would always have to help with balls and parties and assist little bratty stupid Earls zip up their pants and always put herself in danger getting involved in the criminal underworld so she stuck by her earlier principles and refused to work for Phantomhive.

Sebastian was getting desperate. The hand that held the contract started to hurt, the way it always did whenever he defied or put off an order. He had to get this girl working for Phantomhive as quickly as possible, before the _real_ pain started.

It was Eleanora's last day at Phantomhive and she was preparing her last meal for the Earl. She was humming to herself, barely able to contain her excitement about leaving. Then the butler was there, standing directly behind her, and he leaned into her, pinning her to the counter, and he whispered seductively in her ear,

"You know, Miss Black, there are many _other_ benefits for working here…"

She had screamed and instinctively slapped him and ran off to the Earl.

"What is it? What's going on?" Ciel had said sleepily. He was just about to go to bed and was starting to get tired.

"Your butler," Eleanora announced, "is a bloody freakin' _prostitute_."

"I am _not_!" Sebastian said, arriving behind her, rubbing his cheek. "I was just…"

"He said that he would have sex with me if I worked here," she said. "That's an exchange of something for sex, which promptly makes you a whore. The very idea!" she scoffed. "As if I would want to sleep with such an ugly, unpleasant bastard!"

"I'm sorry for his inappropriate conduct," Ciel said tiredly. "I assure you that it won't happen again."

Eleanora curtseyed and excused herself. Normally she would have put up more of a fight, but as she was leaving tomorrow, she thought that it wasn't worth it.

Ciel glared at Sebastian, who just looked at him.

"…Am I really ugly?" he said.

"What were you thinking?" Ciel exploded. "You should have known that she wouldn't have jumped for seduction. Plus she hates you. Were you even _thinking_?"

"I thought that it would work," he mumbled. "It usually does."

"Well, this time, it didn't," Ciel said and sighed. "Listen," he said coldly. "I don't care what you do, I don't care how you do it, I want her inextricably tied to Phantomhive, and I want it done as soon as possible. Do I make myself clear? That is an _order_."

Sebastian bowed and left the room, thinking of how he would accomplish such a thing. He rubbed the hand with the contract on it. It was starting to burn.

About three days had passed since Eleanora had left Phantomhive. Everyone—servants and bosses alike—had wanted to know everything about it. She had given them the bare minimum, didn't add details, and wisely cut all the parts out about the attempted murder and getting shot.

It was late; the sun was setting; she had been out in the market, buying some more ingredients for dinner. She looked around and smiled. The air in London was never particularly clean, but it seemed to smell a bit sweeter this evening. Probably because she was free. Free from Phantomhive forever! She would never have to go back. She smiled and sighed and passed a dark alleyway…

A hand shot out from the alley, grabbed her mouth, and pulled her into the darkness. She tried to scream and struggle but then another hand pressed a knife against her throat and a vaguely-familiar voice hissed in her ear,

 _"Don't struggle. Don't scream. Or else I'll kill you."_

She relaxed and forced herself to stay calm. The person pressed her against the wall and quickly ran their hand around her, feeling into all of her pockets. She calmed down even more.

 _"Oh,"_ she thought, unable to control her relief. _"I'm just being robbed."_

But she wasn't just being robbed. The mysterious unknown removed all of the weapons that she had on her: the switchblade knife in her pocket, the gun tucked into her garter, the other switchblade in her bosom…And once she was completely free of her weapons, the person grabbed her waist and forced her to keep walking, assuring her that if she screamed, he would slit her throat. She believed him; the knife was still pressed against her neck.

They walked for quite a long time; she wondered what he wanted to do to her and whether she would live or not. Then they suddenly stopped and the person blindfolded her. She shuddered and couldn't restrain a small whimper. She was probably being taken to some cult hideout where they would beat her, have their way with her, then do it all again before killing her.

The person forced her to walk again and after some time, she heard her steps echoing. The ground had changed; she was now walking on marble. She wished she knew where she was and what was going to happen to her.

And suddenly the person stopped her and let her go, standing next to her, but the knife tip was slightly jammed into her side, warning her not to run.

Then someone else standing in front of them started _singing_ , singing in a strange language, a language that vaguely resembled Latin. They sang for a while and then they asked something in this language and then the person standing next to her sang something as well:

 **"Su facio."**

Then the first person who sang posed another question and the person next to her jabbed her side with the knife and hissed into her ear,

"Repeat it: **su facio**."

She hesitantly repeated it, trying to sing it as well:

 **"S-Su facio."**

The first person sang some more and then there was scribbling sounds and then a pen was shoved into Eleanora's hand.

"Sign," the knife person hissed again.

She was about to comply when she paused.

"Wait, but what am I signing?"

The knife was jammed in again.

"Sign!"

"But what am I signing?"

"Just sign!"

" _I won't sign unless I know what I'm signing!"_

Something heavy smacked her head and she was knocked unconscious. When she woke up, she was in some kind of stone prison. The bed was just a smooth slab of stone; there was a table and two chairs in the room; a piece of parchment and a quill and inkstand where on the table. There were about three or so women dressed like nuns in the room, watching her sullenly. There was a man in the darkness, playing with one of her switchblades, who stepped into the light upon realizing that she was awake. Eleanora's eyes narrowed.

" _You._ "

"Me," Sebastian said simply. "Please understand that I take absolutely no pleasure from doing this. I am strictly following my young Master's orders. If you'd just sign the paper, we can all go home."

Eleanora hesitantly stood up, swaying a bit from the blow that she had received. One of the nuns stepped forward and assisted her to the table, where she sat down.

The paper was written in some strange language that she couldn't read. There were two lines at the bottom for signatures: one of the blanks had already been filled in, the other was waiting her name.

"I won't sign unless I know what this is," she said sulkily.

Sebastian frowned at her and rubbed his hand, as if it pained him.

"…I can't tell you," he said finally.

"Why not?"

"Because if I tell you, then you won't sign."

"Then tough luck, mister," Eleanora said, trying to stand up. But one of the nuns violently pushed her chair into the table while the other two chained her hands to the surface of the table.

"What's going on? Why are you doing this?" Eleanora asked, trying to free herself.

"I told you, I'm merely following my young Master's orders. He wants you inextricably tied to Phantomhive. If you sign this," he gestured to the paper, "then you will be, and we can all leave."

"I don't _want_ to be bound to Phantomhive," she growled. "Tell your Earl to leave me alone."

"The Earl isn't one to accept 'no' for an answer. Neither am I. Just sign the paper and make this simple."

Eleanora told him in no uncertain terms where he could shove the paper and his young Master.

"So you won't make it easy?" he asked resignedly when she was done.

She shook her head and tried to scoot away from the paper.

"So be it," he said tiredly and gestured to one of the nuns.

And suddenly Eleanora was missing her right thumb.

The nun who had done the deed wiped the knife with a cloth while another one jammed a lit candle at the stub to cauterize the wound. Eleanora couldn't stop screaming.

Eventually she ran out of air and stared up at Sebastian with pained, fearful, rage-filled eyes.

"Why are you doing this?" she whispered, trying to control her hysteria. "Why are you doing this to me?"

"Just sign the paper and it'll all be done with."

"N-No."

And now she was missing the tip of her pointer finger.

Sebastian sighed and began to leave the room.

"Keep at it," he called over his shoulder, "until she agrees to sign the contract."

The nuns bowed and turned to Eleanora, who was screaming and shouting expletives at the receding butler.

He was gone and she was left alone with the hellish nuns.

"P-Please," she whispered as one of them approached with the knife, "p-please don't do this to me…"

"We have our orders," the nun said dully.

"It would all be over if you'd just sign the paper," another nun said sympathetically.

"That's right," the third said. "Just sign and you can leave."

"N-no."

By the time the sun rose, Eleanora no longer had a right hand.


	15. Chapter 15

A month had almost passed and Eleanora still wasn't working for Phantomhive. In fact, she didn't even seem to be working anywhere. Ciel had called her previous employers, but they had said that they hadn't seen her in weeks. She had just vanished—no two weeks' notice, no resignation letters, nothing. Just gone.

Ciel was pretty sure that his butler had something to do with it. Sebastian seemed to get more and more stressed and irritated as the month wore on. Eventually, Ciel got so impatient that he decided to confront him:

"Sebastian, where is Eleanora?"

Sebastian flinched a bit, as if hearing her name pained him.

"She's…preoccupied."

"Are you convincing her to work for Phantomhive?"

"Working on it, my Lord."

"Good," Ciel nodded and went back to his work. He thought about something and then looked up again. "Sebastian?"

"…Yes?"

"I forgot to ask—how exactly are you convincing her?"

"I'm afraid that's…private."

"Oh," Ciel said, wondering what it was, but his butler didn't seem inclined to talk about it. "Well, is it something that I would approve of?"

"I think so, my Lord—if you really thought about it."

"Oh. Well, if I would approve of it…"

Sebastian nodded and left the room to see to dinner. He was getting more and more—what was that word? Frustrated? Yes, that was it—he was frustrated. His hand with the contract pained him more and more with every day and that _wretched_ _idiot_ _still_ refused to sign. He probably could have upped the tortures, but then he might be crossing the line of what the young Master "approved of."

But then again, maybe not. After all, it had only been a little while ago when the young Master had ordered that mansion filled with those children to be burned down. He hadn't lied when he said that he might've "approved it." If he _really_ thought about it—and was in a listening mood—and if he was a little drunk—or maybe a lot drunk—he _definitely_ would approve of his methods. He hadn't lied. He hadn't lied at all. Lord, he loved loopholes.

But there was still the issue of the girl. She still refused to sign.

He sighed and thought about how to get her to sign. He was trying everything that he thought was fairly decent. He could be doing much worse to her—much, _much_ worse. But what could break her?

She eventually did break. Surprisingly, she cracked not due to Sebastian, but from something else entirely.

Eleanora was in hell. She had heard of phantom limbs, and in her sickest moments, she _knew_ that she still had her right arm and her right foot. She could _feel_ them; she could _touch_ them. But then another nun would approach and there would be pain and she would flash back to reality—horrible, grim reality—and remember where she was and what they were doing to her.

 _"I don't deserve this,"_ she remembered thinking, over and over again. _"I did nothing to deserve this."_

Then there would be pain again.

 _"Kill me…Please kill me…"_

Everything hurt—her head, her leg, the place where her arm used to be—but then came the worst pain of all. Between bouts of agony, she was furious. She _knew_ that it was coming—it always came—but why _now_? This was adding insult to injury. On the plus side, the nuns took one look at what was happening and seemed completely at a loss. They were so shocked that they were forced to call _him_ —that damned butler.

Sebastian arrived shortly after the phone call. He had been forced to sneak away at night and wasn't in a good mood.

"Well? Has she agreed yet?"

The nuns shook their heads.

"N-No sir…"

"Then why did you call me here?"

"Sir, there's something wrong…"

He frowned at Eleanora, lying on the stone bench. She was missing her right arm and her right leg up to her knee. She was filthy and feverish and kept on moaning in pain.

"What's wrong with her?"

"Sir, she's bleeding…"

"Cauterize it, then."

"Sir, she's bleeding _in the wrong area…"_

He frowned deeper and approached the woman. She was in a delirium and didn't realize that he was there. One of the nuns grabbed her leg while the other grabbed her stump and they opened them up. Sebastian winced at the smell, looked, and almost fainted. The nuns were right—she was indeed bleeding.

"Is that—That's not—That's not normal, is it?" Sebastian choked. "I mean…That never happened to any one of you, right?"

"Never, sir," the nuns said, equally terrified at the unnatural event.

"Do you suppose…that she's…dying?" one of the nuns whispered. Sebastian almost fainted again.

" _Dying?_ She can't _die_!" His hand with the contract blazed with pain and he clutched it. "She _can't_ die. If she dies…" _If she dies, I'll have disobeyed an order._ "Get it out."

"S-Sir?"

"Get out whatever is causing this and make sure that she lives!"

Eleanora started screaming.

The head nun came in the next day, looking absolutely furious. Sebastian was there, sitting next to her, gently touching the scar on her lower stomach.

"You— _idiot_ ," the head nun hissed. Sebastian looked up.

"Mother?"

"You _idiot_ ," she hissed again, stomping forward and wrenching him away from Eleanora. "You complete and utter _idiot_. _What_ did you do to this poor girl last night?"

"Sh-She was bleeding last night, Mother," one of the nuns whimpered. "W-We took it out…"

"Put it back in," the Mother hissed. "Put it back in immediately! And _you…"_ she thrust a book into Sebastian's hands— _Anatomy of the Human Female_ —"educate yourself, you twit."

She whirled around and stomped back upstairs.

Eleanora started screaming again.

A month had officially passed and she began to whimper.

"F-Fine," she whispered.

The closest nun leaned in.

"What?"

"F-Fine," she whispered again, "I'll sign…I'll sign…"

Sebastian was called again and the ceremony was repeated. He had to hold up Eleanora—partly because of her missing leg, and partly because she was so sick she couldn't stand up on her own.

The Mother conducted the ceremony, frowning at Sebastian the whole time, making him shift around uncomfortably. She had agreed to him using the church's basement, but that didn't mean she approved of his methods. Eventually she asked the question and he answered.

 **"Su facio."**

She asked the question, gently this time, to Eleanora, who whimpered it out:

 **"S-Su facio..."**

A new contract was brought forward and both of them signed it. The Mother said something and then repeated it in English:

"You may kiss the bride."

Eleanora felt a spurt of anger.

 _"That's what all this was about? A stupid freakin'_ wedding _? Who the ! is getting married?"_

She felt something slide onto her left ring finger and then warm lips pressed against hers.

 _"Oh,"_ she thought. _"Oh, oh, oh."_

The world was growing dim…

 _"Well, shit."_

And then she blacked out.


	16. Chapter 16

Eleanora woke up about a day after the wedding and wondered what was wrong. It took her a while until she figured it out: she was completely fine.

A month of fever and sickness and pain had rattled her nerves so much that when she was absolutely healthy, she could hardly believe it. She s-l-o-w-l-y sat up, moaning softly to herself. Her body ached and her head hurt and for some reason she couldn't feel her left arm.

At first she thought that it had been amputated, but it was still attached to her body, and it was the _right_ arm that they had taken off, not the _left_ one. They had been smart—keeping her writing hand intact and all.

She groaned and rubbed her left arm, trying to feel it. Then she realized something else—she had her right arm again.

She wiggled her toes and stared down at herself. Both legs were perfectly intact.

She examined her right arm—absolutely fine. As if it had never left. The only difference was that there were red marks everywhere, but they looked as if they would quickly fade. She shuddered at them. The marks indicated where they had taken things off—they proved that what had happened wasn't a nightmare. She gently touched the marks. They didn't seem to hurt; the arm didn't pain her; but then again, touching it wasn't reliable as her left arm was still absolutely numb.

Her right arm had been investigated; she moved on to the left one. It didn't have any red marks; no trace of anything being removed. But for some reason, there was a ring on her left ring finger. It was a beautiful ring: made out of some kind of smooth black metal and imbedded with small slivers of rubies, so that it glistened like embers from a dying fire. She ran her right arm up her left one, feeling for anything else out of place, and noticed something on her upper arm: some kind of symbol. It looked like a pentagram, but there was writing all around it. It looked incredibly detailed and she strained to read the words: _ton…te…tra…_ Nonsense words. Some kind of practical joke, probably. But why couldn't she feel her arm?

"You're awake?"

She jumped and whirled around. The butler—that _damned_ butler—was walking down the steps towards her cell, carrying a tray.

"We were wondering when you would wake up," he commented, setting the tray on the table. "The Mother said that if you never did, I would be unbaptized and kicked out of the Church. I'm relieved to see that you made it out okay."

Eleanora could have said several things to this. She could have asked him what kind of a churchgoer was he, if he thought that it was alright to torture young women for no reason. She could have sarcastically said something about how important it was for him to remain a member of the church, much more important than the safety and well-being of a young woman. She could have told him where to shove his so-called "relief." However, she was too angry to say anything. And also—she hated to admit it—she was scared. Maybe if she insulted him, the tortures would begin again. She did _not_ want that to happen.

The tray had some porridge, some tea, some water, and a small briefcase on it. He removed the briefcase and set the tray down on her lap.

"You should eat something; you've gotten thin."

"And whose fault was _that_?" Eleanora said. She didn't remember much, but she weakly recalled the nuns putting IVs in her remaining arm and giving her nutrients so they wouldn't have to actually feed her.

Sebastian shrugged and opened the briefcase. It was filled with vials and syringes.

"I didn't want to have to do it," he said quietly, "but you're just so _stubborn."_

He filled a syringe with something from one of the vials and held his hand out.

"Here, give me your arm."

She scooted away from him, protectively clutching her right one. He rolled his eyes.

"Here, let me—" And he grabbed her left one.

"What is it? What are you doing? _What are you putting into me_?!"

He injected whatever-it-was into her arm and now she _really_ couldn't feel her arm.

"It's a simple numbing solution," Sebastian said, tossing aside the syringe and the now-empty vial. "You'll have to inject it into your left arm once every twenty-four hours for a month. That should be enough time…"

Eleanora told him where he could shove his injections and threw the tray at him. He easily dodged the flying food and stood up, reclosing the briefcase.

"If you're ready, we can leave."

She stood up rapidly and almost fell down. She had been lying down for a month and had lost one of her legs, so it was quite a shock to suddenly stand. Sebastian grabbed her to try to steady her but she shoved him aside and fell down on the floor. He looked down at her pityingly.

"We won't get anywhere if you won't accept my help. Here, let me—"

Eleanora slapped his hand away and told him where he could shove his help, as well as other things too impolite to repeat. Sebastian withstood her barrage quietly and didn't help her as she staggered to her feet and then stumbled up the stairs. By the time they had left the church, she was walking normally.

Ah, the _relief_ of being alive! The sheer joy of having limbs! The wonderful feeling of movement! She would never take anything for granted ever again. She wanted to run—and run she did, because Sebastian was still following her.

He kept up with her easily, and when she paused to take a breather he jogged up next to her.

"I don't think that you're ready yet," he said, looking at her with concern. She looked so pale and thin and weak…"I'll call us a cab."

"Shall I tell you where you can shove your cab?"

"Oh—No thank you."

She told him anyway, along with other things. Again he stood quietly.

"Well don't just _stand_ there, you !, _say_ something!"

"Like what?" he said tiredly. "What could I possibly say?"

"That's right; you can't say anything." But _she_ could, and if they were in America, she would have used up her right to free speech.

"Are you _sure_ you don't want a cab?" he asked her when she was done and she resumed her panting.

" _No._ I don't want anything from you."

"It's really no problem; I can get one and I'll pay for it and…"

Eleanora whirled around, eyes blazing with fury.

"Let me make one thing crystal clear to you:" she snarled, " _I. Hate. You_. And if you know what's good for you, you'll go away forever and leave me alone and never bother me again."

"But how can I do that?" he said. "We're inextricably bound to each other for all eternity."

 _"What_?"

"We're married," he said, removing his glove and lifting his hand. There was a symbol on his hand: the same symbol that was now on Eleanora's upper arm. On his left ring finger was a wedding ring. It looked almost exactly like Eleanora's, same black metal, only instead of having slivers of rubies in his, he had deep blue sapphires. "We're married, so even if I wanted to leave you alone forever, I can't."

"Why not? You go _that_ way and I'll go _this_ way and then…"

"…I'm bound under contract," he said. "We both are. We signed a marriage contract—I can't break it. So sorry, but you're stuck with me."

Eleanora blinked at him. He was about to offer a cab again when she jumped him.

He kicked her off a few seconds later, after he had gotten over the shock of being attacked. His cheeks were scratched and both of his eyes were black and his nose was severely bleeding. Eleanora leaned against the wall, wiping tears off of her cheeks.

"I hate you," she whispered. "I hate you."

"…Aren't you even going to ask _why_ I did such a thing?"

"I don't need to ask," she said. "I never want to talk to you ever again. I never want to look at you ever again. And if you dare to follow me, I'll take a rusty lead pipe and tear you a new one with it."

Normally Sebastian would have scoffed at this threat, but she seemed pretty serious. He allowed her to leave in peace and spent several minutes on the ground, staring up at the sky before he realized how late it was and how he really should be getting back to Phantomhive.


	17. Chapter 17

Eleanora had ignored all of the questions when she arrived at Mrs. Standfield's. She had curtseyed respectfully and listened patiently to all of the lady's reproaches, and the whole thing took about three hours, but she still had her job after it was over. Mrs. Standfield claimed that it was because good help was hard to find, but Eleanora thought that it was because she was being pursued by the Earl of Phantomhive—Mrs. Standfield said that he had called about three times wondering where she was, a fact that she brought up every three seconds.

The servants were even more insufferable than Mrs. Standfield. They would not shut up, and quite a lot of attention was placed on Eleanora's new ring; they all wanted to know where she had gotten it and who had given it to her; it looked much too expensive for her to buy on a humble maid's wage. Nobody questioned the strange symbol on her upper arm because Eleanora had had the foresight to tear a strip of her dress and wrap it up, like a bandage, with the excuse that she had tripped and had accidently hurt herself.

She went to bed late; there were quite a lot of things that she had to do after Mrs. Standfield's lecture. She wearily trod up the stairs to the attic, where she and the other maids slept. There was a briefcase on her bed; she opened it without thinking.

It contained numerous syringes, filled with liquid. There was a note waiting for her—a note in oddly familiar, elegant black handwriting:

 ** _To be injected into the left arm, once every twenty-four hours._**

There was a note towards the bottom that had been crossed out, and then rewritten.

 ** _I'm sorry._**

Eleanora swore and tossed the briefcase full of syringes out the window. She knew that they would be picked up and put in the garbage tomorrow. She checked everywhere in her room, making sure that there was no one hiding in her room, watching her, ready to inject something else into her arm. After making sure that she was well and truly alone, she flopped down on her bed and promptly fell asleep, too exhausted to even change out of her clothes.

She woke up due to pain, the worst pain that she had ever felt in her life, even worse than when she had been tortured. She thought that she knew pain? Hah! _That_ pain was _nothing_. _Everything_ hurt, and really, truly _everything_.

Breathing hurt; the mere act of her chest rising and falling sent spasms of pain running through her body. She tried to roll over and _that_ hurt. She tried to move her arm; _that_ hurt. She tried blinking and _that_ hurt. She tried keeping her eyes closed and apparently her eyelashes had gained three hundred pounds in a night because just having them rest on her cheeks was sheer agony.

She struggled to focus, forcing her mind through the pain, and realized what the cause of the pain was: her upper left arm. Absolutely everything hurt; she could barely stand having a lock of her hair glide across her neck; but moving her left arm was impossible.

She thought that she fainted once or twice while trying to get up and get ready; she remembered standing up and moving around and then she was on the floor, trying to get up again. The whole morning was a type of pain-filled delirium. Later, she would look back and wonder how she had actually managed to drag herself down to the kitchen. She decided that it was due to her stubbornness.

If Eleanora could be described in only two words, they would be "stubborn" and "proud." These two characteristics could be described as both a blessing and a curse. It was her stubbornness and her pride that forced her not to sign that marriage contract from the get-go—and she lost an arm and half a leg due to it. On the other hand, she was able to continue her work—however half-heartedly—due that same stubbornness and pride, which prevented her from being fired for the time being. But nevertheless, it was still an extremely painful morning; she had actually screamed when Jacob had accidently bumped into her left arm.

But the day got even worse.

The butler arrived at around noon.

There was a knock at the door in the kitchen—the one that led outside, where the businessmen usually entered.

"Come in," Eleanora called out, trying to cut vegetables using only her right hand, not even bothering to question who it was that had knocked.

And suddenly he was standing next to her, looking a bit awkward.

"H-Hello," he said.

Eleanora jumped and said something like, _"HOLYCHRISTJESUSSHITTAKEONASTICK!"_ After she had gotten over her initial shock, she said in a far more intelligible voice,

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"I came to see you," he said, looking with interest at the vegetables. "Is this a bad time? Should I come back later?"

"Yes, come back later. Say—in another century or so?"

"…But I need to talk to you _now_."

"…I was being sarcastic."

"Oh," he said, looking confused. "Is that…funny? Should I be laughing?"

"! off," she suggested and went back to the vegetables.

He just stood there for a bit, collecting his thoughts, and then he shook his head and focused.

"The Earl of Phantomhive has need of your services."

"And isn't that just bully for him?"

"He needs you tonight."

"Gotten bored of you already?"

"You don't understand—"

"The real question is, 'do I _want_ to?'"

"There's been another murder."

She paused.

"…Well isn't that just fan-!ing-tastic," she mumbled, chopping the vegetables with more violence. "Isn't that just a bundle of joy with a little side of peaches?"

"Is that more sarcasm?"

"! off."

"The crime was committed in the bad parts of London," Sebastian continued, choosing to ignore her language. "And don't you know that place?"

"Like the back of my hand."

"So you could lead us there and take us back."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because it's dangerous and the Earl won't be able to pull it off and I hate you and I'm busy and I said no. Did I mention that I hate you?"

"Yes, you did." He sighed. "Did I mention the rather large salary that the Earl is willing to pay you?"

Eleanora mumbled obscenities under her breath, mostly about the Earl and his money and where they could go and what they could do there.

"…I take it that you're not interested in the money?"

"There are several things that I'm willing to do for money. Personally escorting a child Earl into a suicide mission and spending time with his pervert butler never had a chance of making the list."

"It's not a suicide mission."

"Have you ever been to that part of London?"

"N-No…"

"Then you clearly have no idea what you're talking about, so shut up."

He looked at her for a moment and sighed in impatience.

"So you really won't do it?"

"Not in this life."

"Fine," he said and leaned against the counter.

"What are you doing? Shouldn't you be leaving? Don't you have Earls to take care of, dishes to wash, women to torture?"

"I'm waiting."

"For what?"

"For another servant to come down."

She scoffed.

"And then what? You'll tell on me? 'Boo-hoo, she's not doing what I tell her to do; someone get me a butcher knife; this bitch just lost her fingers?' Get real. You can't do anything to me now; this is a public place. I'll have witnesses."

"I'm not planning on cutting off your fingers."

"Then what will you do?"

"I'll tell them that you're married."

Eleanora froze.

"…You'll what?"

"I'll tell them that you're married," he said calmly, crossing his arms, "and that for that month that you were missing, you were on your honeymoon, doing…things. And you know what'll happen next—you'll get fired. No one likes a married maid, after all."

Eleanora stared straight in front of her, looking like a statue.

"I'll go," she said quietly.

"What?"

"I said I'll go!" she shouted, tears in her eyes. "I'll be there at eight. Now get out of here!"

Sebastian did a courteous bow.

"Your sacrifices will not go unrewarded," he said and left.

Eleanora slumped down to the floor and instantly regretted it. Her rear came in contact with the floor and that hurt. The tears ran down her face and that hurt. And her stupid left arm still burned like hell.

She stared up at the ceiling and tried to pray to whoever was listening.

"Please," she whispered. "Please…Help me. Get me out of this mess. Please…I'll do anything…Please…"

But no one came to help her, and at seven-thirty she got ready and began the journey to Phantomhive.


	18. Chapter 18

Eleanora arrived at eight, just as she had promised. Sebastian was relieved to see her; for a moment, he thought that she had decided to run away and he would have had to go out and find her.

She was dressed in a tattered black dress with a thin black shawl draped over her shoulders. Her shoes didn't match, had holes, and were clearly several sizes too small for her. She had let her hair down, so it fell to the small of her back in soft curls.

Ciel stepped forward.

"Hello," he called out as she approached. "It's nice to see you again."

"Likewise," she said quietly. She didn't seem to have the energy to be sarcastic—just tired.

Eleanora bit back a whimper. She had had to change her clothes for this fool's mission, which resulted in her jolting her left arm around, and it _still_ hurt. But never mind that; the faster she got this done, the faster she could go home.

"Why don't you go and get ready and then we can leave."

Ciel blinked at her.

"…But we _are_ ready. See? I changed my clothes."

He was wearing some patched-up pants, a shirt that was too big for him, a brown vest, a newsboy's cap, and instead of the usual black eyepatch, he had a white one with four strings.

"…What the hell are you supposed to be? Oliver Twist?"

"What? You don't like it?"

"It's cute for Halloween, but you wouldn't last ten seconds in the East End."

"Why not?"

"Because you look too good! You think that all the kids in the East End wander around in fancy boots like that? Go back and see if you can find something more…tattered. Something that clearly wasn't made for you."

Ciel obediently ran back to the manor, anxious to get the show on the road, leaving Sebastian and Eleanora alone outside.

They just stood there in silence, Eleanora staring out into space, Sebastian thinking of something to say.

"…Eleanora?" he finally said.

"Don't call me that," she said coldly. "You've lost the privilege of calling me 'Eleanora.'"

"Miss Black, then," Sebastian said. "Did you…get the briefcase?"

"I got it."

"Have you been using it?"

"No."

"…Did you use it tonight?"

"…No."

"…I imagine that you're in quite a lot of pain, then," Sebastian said icily. "Wait here."

He went back into the manor and came out a minute later with a syringe.

"Give me your arm—the left one."

Eleanora winced but held her arm out anyway. She screamed when he took it and screamed even louder when he injected it. But her arm went numb within seconds, and she didn't feel any side-effects, so perhaps it was necessary. After all, she couldn't go around screaming in the East End when people would bump into her—which they undoubtedly would do.

"Thank you," she mumbled, pulling her sleeve down so that the pentagram was hidden.

Silence resumed.

"…Did you get the note?" he finally asked.

"I got it."

"Did you read it?"

"Read it."

"All of it?"

"Yes."

"Even the bottom part?" he said softly.

She scoffed.

"Because I meant it, you know."

"I'm sure that you did."

"I'm serious."

"I'm sure."

"Miss Black," he said seriously, "I never intended on hurting you. I just wanted you to sign."

"What—you're that desperate to lose your virginity that you would force a woman—who you just met and barely know—to marry you? That's just sick."

Sebastian was about to reply but the young Master was returning.

"I didn't find anything," he panted. "This is the best that we can do!"

"Great," Eleanora sighed and looked at them both. The butler hadn't changed at all—he still wore his black overcoat and butler suit. The Earl looked a touch better, but not quite. He still looked like a kid going to a costume party. She knelt down in front of him and felt his shirt. It was made out of high-quality material. She sighed again. This would be fun.

"Firstly," she said, "take those shoes off."

"But if I take my shoes off, how will I walk?"

"Using your feet, of course. Take them off."

The butler knelt down and took his shoes and socks off. Eleanora resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

"Now then…"

She took the vest and the hat off and tore a strip off of his shirt.

"Hey—"

She ignored the Earl's protests and removed his eye patch, tying up his right eye with the strip. She tore off the ends of his pants so that it looked as if he was wearing torn shorts. She paused to admire her handwork—

"Ugh, you still look so _clean."_

She tousled his hair and began smearing dirt all over his face and his clothes, making him squirm.

"Don't wriggle; it's for your own good."

She tore some more of his clothing and frowned at him. A nobleman wouldn't have known him for a fellow aristocrat in years, but the people at the East End would be instantly suspicious of his perfect white skin, devoid of any cuts or scars, and his upright posture and fancy talk.

"Slouch," she ordered. "Skulk, don't walk. Shuffle your feet. And talk as crudely as possible."

Ciel tried and Eleanora couldn't hold back her eye-roll.

"Now you," she said, turning to the butler. "Shed as many layers as possible."

Sebastian winced but obediently removed as much as he could, including shoes and socks, leaving him wearing nothing but a white shirt and black pants.

"You don't have anything more ragged? Nothing too big, nothing too small?"

"No."

"Wonderful," she grumbled and punched him in the eye.

"WHATAREYOUDOING!" Ciel shrieked as he watched his butler fall to the ground.

"He's too perfect," she snapped. " _You_ might pass because you're a child, but a grown man can't walk around looking like that. He'd be snapped up immediately."

"'Snapped up?' What do you mean?"

"I _mean_ that he'll be kidnapped and drugged and shipped out to some godforsaken whorehouse to be some bitch's pleasure slave for all eternity."

Sebastian licked his lips. _"Pleasure slave."_ How come he didn't have one? It sounded positively delightful—He glanced at Eleanora and decided not to say anything; she probably wouldn't jump at the idea. Besides, they were married—there would be plenty of time for bedroom fun later.

He sighed. He couldn't think of a woman he found more repulsive. But they had a contract, and the contract must never be broken.

He pressed his hand over his eye. He had healed both of his eyes after Eleanora's attack yesterday, but they were still a little tender. But he didn't feel pain; mostly he felt anger. This had to be the _third time_ that she had managed to hit him. He never expected any of it. He had to be prepared. A mere human beating him was despicable.

She ran her nails down his cheeks and tousled his hair. She tore his pants and ripped his shirt a bit and got him as dirty as possible. Then she reached for his gloves and he pulled back.

"What are you doing?" she said irritably. "Take those off."

"I can't."

"Why not? Are they glued to your skin or something?"

"You don't understand; I _can't_ …"

She snatched his hands and pulled the gloves off, revealing his black nails and—worst of all—the symbol of the contract. Eleanora was unperturbed; she ripped off some more of his shirt and quickly tied the hand up so that the symbol wasn't visible.

"Take this off," she said, tapping his wedding ring.

"What? Why? I can't."

"Why not? I took mine off."

Sebastian stared at her.

"…You what?"

"I took it off."

" _Why_?!"

"Because if I took it into the East End it would get stolen and I hate looking at it anyway."

"You didn't…throw it away…did you?"

"Of course not."

She wouldn't toss a ring into the garbage without a good reason. Rings were good—they could be pawned for big money.

Sebastian glared at her and hesitantly removed his ring. The ring was a sign of the contract—removing the ring meant that the contract was at risk of being broken. And _she_ had just taken it off with absolutely no respect for what it meant! He wanted to tell her that he hated her, but he couldn't in front of the young Master. That would be unprofessional.

"Alright, now try and talk for me. Be as crude and as low-class as possible."

If Ciel was bad at it, Sebastian was even worse. Eleanora pressed her hand against her forehead.

"Alright, new plan: _you_ will not talk as much as possible," she said, pointing to the Earl, "and _you,_ " pointing to Sebastian, "will not be talking at all. Understood?"

They nodded.

"Okay, I think that we're ready. As ready as we'll ever be," she mumbled. "Now, when we're in the East End, you do as I say, and you do it _immediately_. Got it?" She glared at them all and they nodded and mumbled agreements.

"Alright," she sighed. "God help me; let's get this freak show on the road."


	19. Chapter 19

Ciel had thought that Eleanora had been exaggerating when she kept on stressing the dangers of the East End. The East End was a bit dark and a bit disturbing, but not absolutely frightening. He was feeling rather confident and when he shared a look with Sebastian, he knew that he felt the same. Eleanora had just been exaggerating. They were absolutely fine.

And then she stopped at the entrance to a very dark alley.

"'Ere we are," she said in a coarse voice. "Remember wot I tol youse."

Then she strode inside without a second thought.

And Ciel realized just what a place the East End was.

It was crowded and filthy and chock-full of poverty. People lay on their sides in the streets, slowly dying of starvation and disease and no one even looked at them. There were rats the size of cats, eating the dead and occasionally the living—the living who didn't even have the energy left to fight back; all they could do was moan. People grumbled, they swore, they shoved each other, they drank, they smoke…Ciel had never known that such disgusting people even existed.

Sebastian was having a hard time of it too. Several men wanted to start a fight with him and Eleanora constantly had to extricate himself from the grips of desperate prostitutes.

"Cum 'ere, pumkin, ten shilling a night…"

"! off, 'ore, 'e's mine," Eleanora would growl, shoving them aside.

"'E's too good for jus one bitch; cum on, now, share the wealth…"

Eleanora actually broke a prostitute's nose trying to tear Sebastian away from her crib. Then she dragged him away, muttering obscenities and snarling at anyone who got too close. Ciel grabbed her hand and refused to let go. His feet were getting cut on the shards of broken glass bottles and he stumbled a lot on the uneven ground, but his terror took his mind off of everything else. He wanted to find the scene of the murder and then leave. He gripped her hand tighter; at any other time it would seem childish, but Eleanora seemed to be the only safe choice in this world of danger.

Sebastian himself was looking a little ill. Everyone smelled of alcohol and he was a little rattled by all the prostitutes. He looked at Eleanora with grudging respect; she wasn't the best woman but compared to those prostitutes, she seemed like a sint.

"Where'd you say this crime was?" Eleanora whispered to Ciel.

"Uh…Some place called Sam's Slum."

She nodded and strode off, practically dragging Ciel behind her, with Sebastian behind.

They found the scene of the crime; it wasn't too difficult as everyone was looking at the dead body. They pushed their way to the front and Ciel and Sebastian investigated, with Eleanora looking around cautiously.

Ciel couldn't even tell that the corpse had been a nobleman at some point. Poverty-stricken people had picked the body clean, so that all that was left was a naked man who had clearly been violently murdered.

"What do you think?" he whispered to Sebastian, who was looking rather green. The stench of alcohol was overwhelming.

"I think…" he whispered back, "that there's nothing left here to examine."

Ciel nodded and stood up. What evidence there might have been was gone, probably already in a pawnshop. He gestured to Eleanora and took her hand again and they began making their way out of the East End.

The outskirts of the East End were much better than the interior. Ciel was starting to relax and Sebastian had regained his normal color. Eleanora was more at ease and began telling Ciel stories of her youth, entertaining him with wild escapades and daring robberies and several humorous anecdotes about times when she messed up and almost died. It was incredibly interesting to Ciel but darkly tragic to Sebastian.

 _"This woman,"_ he thought, looking at her pallid face and skeletal body, _"has suffered more than most humans have and ever will."_

Again he felt respect for her, only this time, there was no grudging.

She stopped around half-an-hour later.

"Wait here," she said and began entering a building.

"Where are you going?" Ciel called out.

"That's private. Don't go anywhere or do anything stupid."

And she was gone.

Sebastian and Ciel looked around, thinking their own private thoughts. Sebastian thought about Eleanora and her life and how he had treated her. Besides from respect, he was starting to feel something else—little twitches of it, so it could hardly be called a "feeling," but it was still present and he didn't like it. He kind of hopped up; his feet were getting cold.

And suddenly there was a nasally laugh behind him. He whirled around, keeping the young Master behind him.

Five young men stepped out of the shadows, the leader having short blonde-and-brown hair and a cocky smile. They all had strange gardening tools. They all had green eyes. They all wore glasses.

Grim Reapers.

"So the perpetrator returns to the scene of the crime!" the leader announced, causing the other reapers to laugh. "I knew that if we hung out here long enough, a certain demon would appear. You're all the same—can't resist the smell of a soul, can you?"

"What do you want?" Sebastian said in a soft, dangerous tone.

"We weren't doing anything," Ciel said, offended. "We were just investigating and now we're leaving."

The leader laughed again.

"How dumb do you think we are?" he said mockingly. "Everyone knows that the demon has something to do with those murders."

"What?" Ciel said, looking up at Sebastian, whose eyes narrowed.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said quietly.

"Oh really? Then explain why _all the dead nobles are missing their souls._ "

"I don't know anything about that."

"We'll see," the leader said cryptically and pulled out a gun. Ciel smirked. Reapers trying to kill a demon with a gun. Typical mistake. He knew that Sebastian was almost impervious to bullets.

"Unfortunately, our boss Will wants you alive," the leader sighed, "so we can't exactly kill you. But we have to get you back to him _some_ how, and the best way is to handicap you. So sorry that I'm not sorry about this," he grinned and shot Sebastian in the stomach.

Ciel laughed.

"Are you _kidding_? Do you know how many times he's been shot? I've seen him get shot a million times and nothing ever came out of it—Sebastian, get them!"

There was no movement.

"Sebastian?"

He turned to look at his butler.

Sebastian's face had grown horribly pale; he was making little choking sounds and clutching his side, where the bullet had hit him. The reaper leader grinned.

"Scary, isn't it, demon? I've never had the privilege of being poisoned, so I don't know what it's like, but I hope it's really _terrible._ "

Sebastian choked in response; the hole started bleeding profusely. Ciel looked around in confusion and shock.

"Wh-What are you doing? Sebastian, go get them!"

Sebastian took a step forward and promptly collapsed. Ciel knelt down beside him and began shaking his shoulder.

"Oh, you didn't know, kid?" the leader said. "Demons aren't immune to _silver bullets_."

He held up a silver bullet—exactly the same as the ones that had been burnt back in Phantomhive—and began loading his gun with it, while the reapers behind him howled with laughter.

"Sorry, demon, but you're coming with us," the leader said, aiming at Sebastian.

And then there was a loud sound; the leader staggered and then fell to the ground, unconscious. The other reapers looked around—

"Hey, what the—"

And Eleanora began hitting them.

She had found a wooden board and had crept up behind the reapers without them noticing her and was now beating them as hard as she could. Once she was sure that they wouldn't be getting up in a while, she ran forward, slung Sebastian's arm over her shoulder, and they ran away, the reapers screaming behind them.

"My _glasses_! She broke my _glasses_!"

"What is it?" Eleanora panted as they ran. "Who were those guys? Why are they trying to kill us?"

"I—don't—know," Ciel said through gritted teeth. "But can you help Sebastian?"

The butler groaned and pressed his side. Blood was still spurting out.

"I can't fix him like this," Eleanora said, looking around. " _There_!" She ducked into another alleyway and stopped at a small hovel. "My Lord, do you have a gun?"

"N-No…"

"Then take mine; it's in my pocket…"

Ciel reached into her pocket and brought out a small handgun.

"Now get in there and order everyone inside to evict or suffer the deadly consequences."

Ciel entered the shack and exited a few minutes later, looking confused.

"They just laughed at me and someone told me to wait my turn."

Eleanora rolled her eyes and dumped Sebastian into his arms.

"Oh, for the love of—Here, let me."

She grabbed her gun and burst into the room, shouting. There were two gunshots and then a naked prostitute wrapped in a dirty sheet and a half-naked man ran out into the street and away from the crib.

Eleanora opened the door.

"Here, get him inside and on the bed."

Ciel did so and Eleanora took Sebastian's shirt off.

Eleanora had seen blood poisoning in her life before. It wasn't pretty—the veins black and spidery, the pressure to fix it immediately…This was the oddest case of blood poisoning she had ever seen, so strange that she wasn't even sure that it _was_ blood poisoning, which was absolutely ridiculous because it couldn't possibly have been anything else.

The veins around the bullet wound had turned a ghastly white and were steadily spreading across his body. Sebastian groaned and blood spurted out of the hole, faster than could possibly be healthy. His blood was odd too—in certain lights, it looked almost black and was unnaturally liquidy for blood.

He groaned and there came another spurt, and with that spurt came something else: some kind of silver disk.

Eleanora examined the disk; why did it look so familiar? Her mind flashed back to that night at Phantomhive; the one where the Earl had almost died…Of course! The butler had been dismantling hollow silver bullets in the fireplace; the disk looked like the top of one of them.

"My Lord, was he shot with a silver bullet?"

"Y-Yes, I think so…"

"Shit," Eleanora said cheerfully.

"Is that bad?"

"I think so," she said. "Get me that bottle on the nightstand."

Ciel got the bottle and Eleanora uncorked it and smelled the contents. Cheap vodka. Perfect.

"This might sting a little," she told Sebastian and poured the alcohol on the wound to disinfect it.

Sebastian screamed, making Ciel jump back. He had worked with the butler for practically two years and he had never heard him scream before. In fact, he had never seen him like this before. He had never known that a demon could have such a weakness and behave in such a way.

The alcohol hadn't helped at all. Rather, it seemed to have made things worse. The white veins were spreading faster and his skin looked burnt.

"I…don't think we'll be trying that again," she said hesitantly. "My Lord, stoke up the fire and get it as hot as possible. Quick!"

Ciel had never really stoked a fire before, but he knelt by the tiny fireplace and did his best, awkwardly using the nearby bellows to make the embers crackle and burn. Meanwhile, Eleanora was trying to stem the blood flow.

"Shit."

"What is it? What's happening?"

"Nothing; nothing; everything's just peaches and !ing roses," Eleanora mumbled and removed her shawl. "My Lord, do you have any spare layers?"

"…I have a shirt."

"Take it off and give it to me, quick. Is the fire hot?"

"I think so," Ciel said, struggling with his shirt and eventually just ripping it off his body.

"Get those tongs and carefully— _carefully_ —bring me the hottest coal."

Eleanora searched the tiny crib for spare blankets and began wrapping up Sebastian in as many layers as possible. Ciel could see why when he approached her with the red-hot rock.

Sebastian's lips were steadily turning blue, as well as his fingertips. He was shivering with cold and was freezing to the touch. Eleanora carefully took the tongs and pressed the ember against the wound, causing Sebastian to gasp with pain and then sigh in relief. She handed the tongs and the burnt-up coal back to Ciel.

"Again. Keep the room as hot as possible."

This process went on for about an hour, with Ciel keeping the fire as hot as possible and handing Eleanora the hottest coals he could find while she would alternate between pressing the coal against the wound to disinfect it and trying to keep the butler as warm as possible.

Eventually he stopped shivering so hard and the wound had mostly-stopped bleeding. The two took a break, leaning against the bed and panting with effort and heat.

"My Lord," Eleanora said, "I have to get the bullet out of him, but I can't do it here. I need more advanced tools; I need things to be sterilized; I need a cleaner place to work. And he needs those things too: we can't just keep him here all night; he needs good blankets and a warm spot by a fire and he needs to be kept as clean as possible. Is there a place nearby that could help us?"

"No…Yes!" Ciel said. "There's my town house; it shouldn't be too far away…"

"Can you get us there quickly? I think that those guys are still looking for us…"

"I _think_ so," Ciel said hesitantly. "Shall we try?"

Eleanora didn't really want to hear "I _think_ so." She would much rather have preferred a resounding, "hell yes!" but beggars can't be choosers. She wrapped up Sebastian as best as she could, wrapped her shawl around his waist for a bandage, and they hobbled out into the night to try and get to the Phantomhive town house.

They got there about half-an-hour later. They would have gotten there faster, but Ciel had gotten lost and it was slow going with Sebastian mostly-unable to walk.

Ciel found the hidden key and opened the door and ran inside, securely locking the door behind them.

"Which room has the largest fireplace?"

"Up the stairs, fourth door to your right!"

"Thank you; do you know where the kitchen is? Run down there, and there should be a medical kit in one of the cupboards. And bring clean water and blankets. Lots of blankets."

Ciel nodded and ran off while Eleanora partly-carried, partly-dragged Sebastian to the aforementioned room. She rested him in front of the fireplace and dragged all of the blankets and pillows of off the bed in the room, making a type of makeshift bed for him. She made the closest thing to a bonfire as she could in the fireplace and checked the bullet wound. The white was still spreading, only less so now. He was still shivering, but at least his lips had returned to their normal color.

Ciel arrived, pushing in front of him a rolling cart with the medical kit and several bowls filled with warm, clean water. He had gotten as many blankets as he could carry and was dragging them behind him, so he was quite a sight when he entered the room.

Eleanora didn't dare to use alcohol again; she pressed another coal from the fireplace onto the wound and cleaned up the fallen ash and charcoal using a damp rag. Then she opened the medical kit and got out a pair of tweezers, sterilizing them by putting them in the flames.

"My Lord, hold his hand."

Ciel immediately did it.

"This might hurt," she said. Ciel wanted to ask who she was talking to, but by then, she had already stuck the tweezers into the wound.

Sebastian screamed and Ciel screamed because Sebastian started gripping his hand as tight as he could with the pain. Eleanora bit her lip, continued with whatever-she-was doing, and after half a minute or so, she brought out the tweezers with the hollow silver bullet pressed between them.

Everyone sighed with relief. Eleanora bandaged him up and washed her hands in the nearby bathroom while Ciel tried to make Sebastian comfortable. Sebastian, meanwhile, had fainted.

"My Lord, do you know anyone who could help us?" Eleanora asked when she had returned.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, do you know someone with medical expertise? Someone who's close by?"

"Well, there's _you_ …"

"My knowledge of medicine is limited," she said. "I can only do so much. We need a real professional."

Ciel thought for a moment.

"Well…I do know _one_ person…"

"Great! Do you know how to use a telephone?"

" _Yes_ , I know how to use a telephone."

"Then go and call them and tell them to be careful getting here; those men might still be out there."

Ciel left to make his call. Eleanora glanced at Sebastian, then darted off to find some weapons. The men might come back at any time and she wanted to be ready for anything.

"I made my call; he's coming," Ciel said several minutes later. They were sitting in front of the roaring fireplace, dressed as scantily as possible due to the heat, but still trying to remain decent. Sebastian was either sleeping or still in a faint; no one could really tell. Eleanora had found some tinned biscuits and some jam in the kitchen, as well as a kettle and some tea bags, and they were eating while waiting for the water to boil.

Eleanora looked at the butler and forced a scornful laugh.

"Huh!"

"What is it?" Ciel asked, looking up from his biscuit.

"Nothing, it's just funny."

"What's so funny?"

"It's funny that this man just singlehandedly ruined my life and here I am, babying him. It's funny," she said and forced another laugh.

"He didn't ruin your life."

"Don't push me, kid; I'm angry at you too," Eleanora said, glaring at him.

" _Me_? Why? What did I do?"

"Oh, don't play all innocent; you know exactly what happened to me. It was done on your orders."

"My orders?" Ciel thought back. "You mean when I ordered him to bind you to Phantomhive? Are you upset about that? You get vacations and better pay and nicer living conditions; I thought you wouldn't mind; besides, I need you more than those idiotic middle-classers do…"

"…I notice that you're conveniently cutting out the tortures and the blackmail."

"Tortures? What tortures? What blackmail?"

"You mean you really don't know?"

"Know what?"

"Know what your butler did to me to get me bound to Phantomhive."

"What? No! I don't know anything! Why? What happened?"

Eleanora told him.

For the next half-hour she went into excruciating detail about what Sebastian had done to her in the basement of the church. She showed him her right arm, still decorated with the fading red marks, and told him about the numbing injections and how he had threatened to tell everyone that she was now a married maid. As she talked, she remembered more and more, and even showed the Earl her lower stomach, covered in scars where Sebastian and the nuns had accidently removed her womanly parts only to put them back in again.

Ciel listened in horror and didn't speak for several minutes after she had finished.

"Eleanora," he said quietly, "I swear I didn't know. He didn't tell me. He said that I would approve of it…Honestly, I didn't know. I really didn't know!" He looked up at her. "I swear to you that once he's recovered, he's going to get it," he said seriously. "He's getting the biggest punishment I can think of."

"Really? What?"

"I haven't thought of it yet," he confessed, "but trust me, when I do, he will pay. And you can watch! I'll give you the best seat in the house."

Eleanora laughed and suddenly sat upright. Ciel listened as well and they both heard it: someone was knocking on the front door.

"That might be my friend," Ciel said.

"Or it might be those men," Eleanora said.

They shared a look.

Ciel grabbed a gun and cautiously went downstairs. Eleanora grabbed a rifle and prepared herself for a fight. But time passed and there was no scream or gunshot, and soon the Earl was entering the room, followed by a very strange man.

He was dressed all in black with a grey sash, like a mourner. His long silvery hair covered his eyes, which only pronounced his scarred face. He had several books tucked under his arm as well as a large medical kit.

"Eleanora, this is the Undertaker, a friend of mine," Ciel said. "Undertaker, this is Miss Eleanora Black. She's my new maid—and also she's married to Sebastian."

The man looked surprised.

"Married to that butler? Oh, no, I don't envy you at all, my dear! Rather I pity you! Fancy being married to such a man! You'll get more love from a statue!"

Eleanora laughed awkwardly and they shook hands. The Undertaker knelt by Sebastian, who was beginning to wake up.

"Yes, I know what this is," he said, becoming professional. He removed his hat and pushed his bangs out of the way, revealing bright green eyes. "Miss Eleanora, could you please run and get me water? I need a _lot_ of water."

Eleanora nodded and ran off, taking the rolling cart with her.

Ciel kneeled by the Undertaker, who had removed his heavy robe and was putting on glasses.

"Do you know what it is? Is he alright? Will he live?"

"Oh, he'll live," the Undertaker said, sanitizing his hands. "It's angelica poisoning."

"'Angelica poisoning?' What's that?"

"Angelica is a type of mineral; it's very prominent in holy medicines. He's an unholy, which means that he's the opposite of the holy. And if angelica is a medicine for the holy…"

"…then it's a poison for the unholy," Ciel finished. "Is it life-threatening?"

"It is in large doses; how many times has he been shot?"

"Just once, in the stomach."

"Oh, then he'll be fine. He'll be sick for quite some time, but he'll pull through." And the Undertaker began removing vials and jars from his medical kit, looking through one of his books.

"What happens with angelica poisoning?"

"Basically, the holy make these hollow silver bullets," the Undertaker said, "and they fill them up with angelica powder. Then they loosely cover these bullets, so that when it's fired, the top will come off and the angelica will spill out, entering the bloodstream. Unholy blood is more liquidy than normal blood; it needs to move fast to keep the unholy okay. So once the angelica enters the bloodstream, it will be immediately transported to almost everywhere in the body before the body realizes what's happening and tries to get it out. And once the body tries to get it all out, the angelica starts working."

"What does it do?"

"It tries to destroy any unholy material that it finds. The whole body is made out of unholy material, so it's trying to destroy everything. It's really damaging and it can take a while for the body to recover and start repairing itself. Did someone take the bullet out?"

"Sebastian's blood started spurting; that got the top out. Then Eleanora took the body of the bullet out with tweezers."

The Undertaker whistled.

"Good."

Then Eleanora entered with the water.

"You did a good job," the Undertaker told her. "Very nice for a human. He'd be in a much worse condition if you hadn't been around. Did you try to pour alcohol on this?" he asked, pointing to the wound.

"Y-Yes."

"That usually works for humans," he said, "but don't ever try it again on him. Any form of alcohol is poison to him."

Sebastian groaned weakly, as if in agreement.

"Now then," the Undertaker said cheerfully, rolling his shirt sleeves up. "Let's get started!"

He concocted various mixtures with the vials and the water, soaking bandages in them, shaking them up and forcing Sebastian to drink them, rubbing certain creams into the wound, which made the butler wince and then sigh with relief. In about half-an-hour, his torso was nicely bandaged and the bleeding had stopped completely.

"There now, that should do it," the Undertaker said, turning to Eleanora. "Now then, my dear, would you please be so kind as to get a clean bucket?"

"What do we need a bucket for?" Ciel asked.

"I told you, his body will be trying to get the stuff out of his system. The easiest and fastest way to get it out is by using the same path it went in," he gestured to the bullet wound, "but that would cause him to bleed out, so we can't allow that. However, he still will be trying to clean himself using other areas of expulsion."

"'Other areas of expulsion?' Like what?"

And then Sebastian vomited.


	20. Chapter 20

Sebastian couldn't decide on whether or not he was feeling embarrassed or just sick. At first he thought he was embarrassed, but then he vomited again and decided that he was just sick. And to commemorate his decision, he vomited again—right after Eleanora and the Undertaker had finished cleaning him up. Meanwhile, the young Master was helpfully standing in the farthest corner and shouting as loud as he could, " ** _EW!_** "

In all honesty, he thought that Eleanora was being rather nice about the whole thing. She had assured the Undertaker that she could take care of him now, and he and the young Master had sat on the bed in the room and began talking to each other. Eleanora didn't complain, she didn't bring up their unusual marriage; when he vomited again, she cleaned it up quickly and easily, and when the Undertaker brought her something to eat, she shared it with Sebastian, and when he threw it up again half-an-hour later, she cleaned that up too.

"Th-Thank you…" he whispered when she was finished.

She shrugged.

"Eh, it's what I'm here for. You can't be a proper maid without cleaning up butler vomit at least once in your life."

He laughed weakly.

"That's…funny…"

"That's right; I'm hilarious; now rest and don't talk."

He began drifting off into feverish dreams and then waking up again, panting and sweating. Eleanora hadn't fallen asleep, so whenever he woke up, she was always there, ready to put another hot cloth on his forehead or wrap another blanket around him or just smile.

One time he woke up and saw her tending the fire. Maybe it was the fever or just the general illness or her being so nice to him, but he thought that she was rather pretty. Her black hair slightly curled at the tips and she had such long eyelashes…He felt something stirring in his chest…Something warm and slightly painful…He wondered what new feeling it was and then he threw up again.

"S-Sorry…" he said when Eleanora cleaned everything up again. "I'm s-so s-sorry…"

"Don't worry about it."

Ciel and the Undertaker were sitting on the bed, discussing things.

"Why is he so cold?" Ciel asked. "He's never been that cold before. Why did his lips turn blue and everything?"

The Undertaker was flipping through his medical books.

"It's a cold fever," he said. "Demons love heat; regular fevers won't hurt them. But they _can_ still have fevers, only their fevers come from a decrease in temperature rather than an increase."

"How do you know so much about demons?"

The Undertaker looked up and grinned.

"We reapers don't spend all of our time collecting souls, you know. We still need actual working jobs and everything. But I've always been interested in the unholy, so once I finished school and got my lawyer degree, I went back and studied unholies and Hell. I'm not as knowledgeable as a _real_ unholy, but I do try." He looked over at Eleanora, who was humming quietly to herself.

"She's pretty," he suddenly said. "Where'd you get her?"

"She worked for a middle-class family," Ciel said.

"And the butler fell in love with her?"

"Not…exactly."

And Ciel told him everything—the recent crimes, there being only one witness, his orders, Sebastian's treatment of her…It was quite embarrassing, but the Undertaker didn't seem to judge.

"That's horrible," he said when Ciel had finished. "He should apologize to her immediately. Look at her! Such a little angel. And so smart too! He had better be begging for forgiveness once he feels better."

"I think so too," Ciel said and they spent the rest of the evening pouring over the medical books, discussing the unholies.

Sebastian woke up the next morning feeling very cold and empty. At first he wondered if he had gotten drunk last night but then he tried to move and there was a flash of pain in his head and his side and he remembered everything and he groaned.

Eleanora was leaning against the fireplace. There was a book by her side; she must have been trying to keep herself awake, but she had fallen asleep anyway. When he groaned and shifted around, she woke up with a jolt and rubbed sleep out of her eyes.

"Good morning," she said tiredly. "How are you feeling?"

He moaned in reply. His head _really_ hurt. But that was good; pain meant that his brain had gotten damaged by the angelica and it was now healing. He didn't want to tell this to Eleanora, and thankfully she didn't ask. He didn't want her to think that he was brain damaged or something.

The Undertaker had woken up the earliest and came into the room with the rolling cart filled with the foods that he was able to find. While Eleanora and Ciel ate, the Undertaker created a drink from the vials and forced Sebastian to drink it. Sebastian winced a lot as it went down, and when he had finished it, the Undertaker unwrapped the bandages around his torso.

The bullet wound hadn't healed; it still looked like a big hole in his side, and the skin around it was still deathly white with the angelica poisoning. But his head had stopped hurting, which meant that his brain was fully healed and his body could go on to fix any other damaged organs—as usual, starting with the most important and continuing down to the ones that could wait for another day or so.

The Undertaker began gently pressing around the wound and asking questions while Sebastian made strange noises in reply.

"Does this hurt?"

"Gurgh…"

"Does this hurt?"

"Argth…"

"Does _this_ hurt?"

" _YAAAIIING!_ "

The Undertaker flipped through his books while Sebastian glared at him, holding his side protectively.

"The organs around the shot have been damaged," he said, "but everything else seems to be okay. The main area of damage is your stomach; I think that about half of it has been destroyed, but nothing a little rest won't fix! I think you're steady enough to go back to the manor."

Eleanora stood up, stretched, and walked over to the window, where she froze.

"Oh shit," she said.

"What? What is it?"

"They're back," she growled and got her rifle.

"They're back? Who's back?" the Undertaker looked out the window. Sebastian tried to sit up.

"Those men in glasses," Eleanora said, loading and checking the gun. "They're back and they looked pissed."

She slowly opened the window and stuck the rifle out, just enough to get a good shot, but not enough to be seen.

"What are you going to do?" Ciel asked.

"…I think I'll try shooting off that little bastard's glasses. You think I could hit them from here?"

"…I doubt it," Ciel said, getting a bit excited, "but try it anyway."

The Undertaker was having difficulty restraining Sebastian; he was trying to get up.

"H-Here, let me, I c-could do it…"

"You get up and this bullet is going through your head," Eleanora said and Sebastian slumped against the Undertaker's side with a sigh.

Eleanora steadied herself, aimed, and fired.

She missed, but the shot came close enough so that the leader—the blonde one with a bit of brown—jumped back, tripped, and fell to the ground, breaking his taped-up glasses. Eleanora hissed with pleasure, but then one of the men pointed up at her:

" _Look!_ "

And she swore.

"What is it? What's going on? What's happening?"

"…I don't think that they're very happy," Eleanora said, watching with dread as the men tried breaking down the front door. "I think that we have to get out of here as fast as possible."

"Brilliant! And how are we going to do that?"

"I—don't—know," Eleanora said hesitantly, looking around. They had a little kid, an old man, a wounded man, and a maid. This wasn't looking good. Worst of all, her left arm was beginning to hurt again. "Does anyone have any ideas?"

The Undertaker stood up.

"I have one. It might not work, but I think that we'll still be able to get out of here."

The reapers had to pause from breaking the door down. A lot of their glasses had been broken and then poorly fixed; it was difficult to see. One of them sat down and looked moodily across the lawn. Will would not be pleased. And then he saw something crossing the lawn in the distance.

"Hey, who are those guys?"

Everybody else looked. It was hard to see, especially without proper glasses, but eventually it became clear that it was two undertakers and a coffin, riding on a wagon being pulled by an irritated-looking donkey.

"…Do you think that's them?" one of the reapers asked.

"No, it can't be," another one said. "There were three of them before, and now there's only two."

"Two plus a dead body," said another. "Do you suppose the demon died?"

" _What_?" the leader yelped. "He can't have _died_!"

"That's right; it couldn't be them," another said. "Remember that there was a tiny little kid and a woman with the demon, and those are two really big men. It couldn't possibly be them."

Madam Red was anxiously waiting outside of Phantomhive. She had found two stacks of clothing—one was Sebastian's and the other one was pieces of Ciel's poor-boy costume. She didn't know where they had gone; Ciel had told her that he would be back by midnight; it was now high noon and they still weren't back…

A cart pulled by a donkey arrived. The Undertaker was controlling the donkey; he politely raised his hat to Madam Red and grinned.

There was another man sitting at the edge of the cart; he lifted up his hat and her long black hair spilled out…

"Eleanora?" Madam Red said, shocked. "But…where's Ciel? Where's Sebastian?"

Eleanora smiled crookedly and lifted up her black undertaker coat. Ciel was sitting in-between her legs, looking very stuffy and awkward.

"Sebastian's in the coffin," he told his aunt after she had finished hugging him.

"What's he doing in a coffin?"

"He isn't feeling well," Eleanora said. She and the Undertaker grabbed the coffin and staggered inside until they reached Sebastian's room. Then they opened the coffin and placed the very weak butler on the bed.

The Undertaker gave Eleanora some more instructions and a bottle filled with the proper antiseptic while Ciel told Madam Red all that had happened to them last night. The Undertaker shook hands, told Sebastian to feel better, and then he left.

Madam Red and Ciel went to talk to Grell. Eleanora sat down at the desk in the butler's room and smiled. Everything was alright now. She was safe.

And then her left arm started hurting again.


	21. Chapter 21

Sebastian was fully functioning and able to get back to work in a week. He was still rather fragile; he couldn't eat heavy things and tired easily, but at least all of his organs had repaired themselves and he was up and walking and alive.

He should have known it wouldn't last.

About half a week after his recovery, he was called into the young Master's study. He realized that something was wrong when Madam Red, Grell, the young Master, and Eleanora were all there—and they were all looking quite murderous.

Madam Red went first.

Sebastian had to stand there patiently for an hour while she lectured him about marriage and torture and fidelity and all those wretched human things that he really couldn't care less about but had to listen to anyway.

"You can't just _marry_ any woman!" she finished. "What about the _issues_? What if you're not _compatible_? You have to agree on the _necessaries!_ "

Sebastian sighed and turned to Eleanora.

"Miss Black."

"Hm?"

"Do you like…dogs?"

"Dogs?" Eleanora thought about it and made a small face. "N-No, not really. I've heard that some dogs are intelligent, but I've never really seen one in action. All the dogs that I have met are stupid. And they smell bad. No, I guess I prefer cats to dogs. I _much_ prefer cats." She nodded decisively.

Sebastian grinned and smirked at the Madam.

"See? We agree on the important things."

Eleanora looked shocked, which quickly turned into anger.

" _That's_ your main issue? On whether cats or dogs are better? Are you some kind of _moron_?"

Sebastian glared at her and she hissed at him.

"Enough," Ciel said, standing up in his chair. He glared at Sebastian, who stared down at the floor. It was rude to glare at earls, particularly earls that one had a contract with.

So he was silent throughout yet _another_ hour-long lecture.

"Such behaviour cannot go unpunished," Ciel finished. "I didn't want to punish you while you were injured, but in a way, it's good that you had been out-of-the-way. It made it easier to choose the best punishment for you."

He whistled and then something large came bounding in. Something large and white and smelly…

"My Lord, why's the _dog_ in the manor?" Sebastian said, unable to hide his disgust.

"It's not a mere _dog_ , it's a demon hound," Ciel said, scratching the monstrosity behind its ears. "And his name is Pluto, and you'd better get used to him. For the next month, I want you to personally take care of him."

Sebastian's face was the very definition of "horror."

"My Lord," he said a bit faintly, "you can't be serious?"

"I'm dead serious," Ciel said. "For the next month, you'll be personally feeding Pluto, walking him, washing him, everything, and at night, he'll be sleeping in your room, and in the daytime, you'll be doing your duties with him around. If I catch you disobeying any of these rules, I'll increase the time period by a day. Is that clear?"

"Y-Yes my Lord," Sebastian said, but if looks could kill, Eleanora would have died instantly.

And to think that he was actually starting to _tolerate_ her! Her! The traitorous maid! This was all _her_ fault; she had taken things too far and now _he_ was getting punished for it! She had withstood a life in the East End; one would think that she could handle a month of some minor roughing-up; he had fixed her once she had consented, right? Did that mean _nothing_? _He_ was the one who had ordered the nuns to carefully preserve all of her "bits," so that when she had consented, they could be reattached and she would be absolutely healed. The marks weren't even visible anymore! She was fine now, right? It was all over with, _right_? So why was _he_ getting tortured?

And she had been so kind to him before! She had fallen in a dead faint once they had gotten back to the manor, but that was understandable; such a powerful contract had to be firmly reattached, and that created a lot of pain. And then she had run off back to her pathetic middle-class family, but she had always returned at night to help at the manor and take care of him. She had changed his bandages and made him boiling-hot tea and had kept him as comfortable as possible…And now _this_! This was sheer _betrayal._

He hated her. He hated her! He would never forgive her for this injustice and cruelty. He stalked away from the study with the damned demon mutt running after him, whining obnoxiously and breathing its horrendous-smelling breath and licking his nice, clean gloves…An angry demon is not a fun thing to have around, and if Eleanora had been working at the manor full-time, he would have cheerfully made her life as much of a hell as he could.

But with Sebastian properly healed, Eleanora had naturally assumed that the manor was back in good hands and spent most of her time working at the Standfields, so nobody saw much of her.

The month passed in agony for Sebastian. Once or twice he had "forgotten" to take care of the mutt and Ciel had, as promised, added another two days to the punishment. He tried to muzzle the beast, but the young Master didn't like that, so _another_ day was added on.

But the month and three days eventually finished and the dog was forced back into its kennel and Sebastian spent another two weeks properly sanitizing and disinfecting the manor and all of his clothes and sheets and furniture. He deeply regretted behaving so rashly. He wished that he had never married that traitorous witch. He would hate her until Judgement Day.

He nodded to himself and sterilized his gloves for the fiftieth time that day. He was glad that she hated him. They could live in mutual hatred forever. He was so glad that he was a demon. He would never learn to tolerate her.


	22. Chapter 22

Eleanora was having significant difficulties. It took an hour to get to Phantomhive, and that was if one rode in a carriage. She couldn't afford a cab every night, so she always had to leave Mrs. Standfield early and walk the two hours, in the dark, to Phantomhive, and then walk another two hours, in the dark, back to the Standfields. She wasn't getting enough time to sleep.

Then there was the fact that the Earl had decided to throw _another_ big ball, despite the fact that the last one he had resulted in him almost getting murdered. And as the other servants were more of a hazard than a help, that meant that Eleanora was _really_ necessary. She worked all night at Phantomhive, helping to prepare for this ball.

And _then_ Mrs. Standfield, upon hearing that the Earl of Phantomhive was having a party, also decided to have one. So that meant that every day she was working full-time at the Standfields, polishing silver, cleaning the house, looking up recipes to use for the big day.

Her days and her nights were absolutely occupied. All her thoughts went into these two parties:

 _"Buy the chicken, polish the banisters, wash the floors, look up spices, go to the tailor's, do the laundry, iron the tablecloths…"_

And then there was all of her regular duties as a maid. Make meals, take care of masters and mistresses, always be polite and don't fall asleep on the job.

The butler was coolly ignorant of her. Eleanora didn't know what he did at night, because he didn't seem to sleep, but whenever she entered Phantomhive every night, there would be a list of things for her to do on the kitchen table. She vaguely wondered if he was still unhappy about the whole dog-thing. It wasn't _her_ fault; she hadn't been the one to suggest the dog. She didn't know that he hated dogs that much! But it didn't matter; she had far more pressing matters to attend to than whether or not the damned butler liked her or not.

She was getting very, very tired. Before, she had managed to catch some sleep at mealtimes or have a half-hour to spare in the very early mornings, but with the parties fast approaching their deadlines, there wasn't even enough time for that. Mrs. Standfield seemed to have forgotten that servants needed to eat and got angry whenever she saw them sneaking a bit of bread. The lists on the kitchen table grew longer and longer every night.

In the daytime, the Phantomhive servants were preoccupied with keeping the manor up and running with normal work: making meals, washing laundry, the usual. They were all doing as best as they could because Sebastian had _not_ been happy these past couple of weeks. Sebastian, meanwhile, was assisting with the ball. He discussed invitations with the young Master and a couple of times tried to teach him how to dance, a practice which he very quickly gave up. He gave almost no thought to Eleanora because they never saw each other. During the nights he would be sent out to investigate the murders of nobles. The young Master was especially concerned about the information that the reapers had inadvertently given them: all of the dead nobles were missing their souls.

Whenever he did think about her, Sebastian thought that the whole thing was terribly convenient. Leave a list of things he hadn't been able to do on the kitchen table; come back in the morning; everything would be done! It was like that fairy-tale story about the naked perverts who would break into a house and do everything in the night…Or it went something like that; he wasn't much familiar with human stories.

One night he came home earlier than usual and began wandering around the manor, thinking if there was something he had to do. He absentmindedly peeked into the ballroom as he passed, paused, and then entered.

Eleanora was lying on the floor in a dead faint.

 _"Wonderful,"_ he thought. _"Just right when we need it."_

He kneeled down next to her and wondered what to do when women fainted. He had read somewhere that fainting was usually due to too-tight corsets, and the best thing to do was to loosen them. But then again, Eleanora probably wouldn't be appreciative of him tearing her dress and fiddling with her undergarments.

He had heard of smelling salts, but he didn't know where they were and didn't want to find them. Then there was pouring cold water and slapping the cheeks. He didn't want to make the floor all wet, so he decided to do the cheek thing.

"Miss Black," he said, gently slapping on her cheeks. "Miss Black. Wake up. You've fainted. Wake up, Miss Black."

Eleanora groaned; her eyes fluttered open and then closed again.

"Miss Black," he said in a firmer voice. He began hitting her a bit harder. "Miss Black, wake up."

She groaned again and her lips began to move. He bent down to hear better:

 _"Choose the fine wine, clean the windows, repair the dresses, dust the china, buy new crystal glasses, beat the carpets…"_

He had never told Eleanora to beat the carpets or repair the dresses. Where was she getting that from? Probably from that middle-class family. Figures that they would also want to throw a party.

He began patting her cheeks again.

"Miss Black—Miss Black—Miss Black—Miss Black—Wake _up_!"

Eleanora's eyes blearily opened. She slowly looked around and then focused on Sebastian's face.

" _What…?"_ she murmured.

"You've fainted," Sebastian said. "Get up."

She stood up with Sebastian's assistance. She had to lean against him for a time, breathing hard.

"Are you feeling alright?" he asked her.

" _Fine…_ " she sighed.

"Loosen your corset," he told her and then left.

She had been able to finish the jobs and had started the long, weary trek back to London. Sebastian called the Standfields in the middle of the day to ask if she had gotten home alright.

They said that she had and then he hung up. There, he had done his duty. She was fine. She had probably just fallen asleep. There was no cause for alarm. She would be just fine.


	23. Chapter 23

Something clicked in Eleanora's mind once she had arrived back at the Standfields'. She had fainted in Phantomhive—truly undignified, and worse, it was absolutely unprofessional. She couldn't risk doing that again. She suffered through another day of torture and party-planning (not that there was much of a difference between the two) and at night, instead of going to Phantomhive, she went upstairs to her room and flopped down on her rickety iron bed. She vaguely thought about Phantomhive, and whether-or-not they would be expecting her, but she decided that taking a night off wouldn't do anybody any harm. She had worked hard. She deserved a night's rest. She yawned and closed her eyes and within seconds was dead to the world.

Sebastian had left the list of things that Eleanora had to do on the kitchen table, as usual. He was incredibly disappointed—bordering on "angry"—when he returned and realized that nothing had gotten done. It was as if she had never bothered to come at all. How rude!

He wondered why she hadn't come. Perhaps it had something to do with her fainting? But she had been just fine afterwards. But maybe fainting was a big deal in the human world. He sighed and quickly completed the tasks he had originally meant for Eleanora. He would give her that night—that was all. He expected her back this night.

Eleanora had been forced to wake up early, just like all the maids, but she felt much better than she had in ages. It was amazing what a good sleep could do. But apparently Mrs. Standfield hadn't slept well that night, because she woke up in a perfectly foul temper and decided at the last minute that everything about her party was wrong. _Everything_ had to be changed, and changed immediately.

The servants were forced to work long into the night just to have a prayer of everything going smoothly. The masters, of course, had gone to bed at a decent hour and only woke up to yell at the servants to keep it down; some people needed their sleep here!

Sebastian had spent several hours pacing the kitchen at Phantomhive. He had decided to stay tonight for a while just to make sure that she was truly coming. The clocks in the mansion struck twelve and she _still_ hadn't appeared. That was it. He didn't care that it was late; she had to be here, and she had to be here _directly_. He was on a schedule.

He called the Standfields'. Bella the maid picked up.

"Hello?"

"Hello; is Miss Black there?"

"Who?"

"Eleanora."

"Who?"

"…Mary Ann."

"Oh, _her_! Yes, she's here. Do you wanna talk to her?"

"No, just give her a message. Tell her that she needs to go directly back to Phantomhive."

Bella shouted out the message to Eleanora, who was trying to make a decent strawberry cake for the very first time. She shouted back that she was busy and she couldn't make it; she'd try to come tomorrow night. Bella relayed this message back to Sebastian, tactfully cutting out all the swear words.

"I don't care about her excuses," Sebastian said coldly. "Tell her to come here immediately or…I'll tell."

"You'll tell? Tell what?"

"Just give her the message."

Bella shouted it to Eleanora, but one of the footmen had accidently set something on fire and Eleanora had to go douse it. All she heard was Bella shouting at her, and she shouted something back accordingly.

"She said to ! off," Bella told Sebastian.

"I see," Sebastian said and fell silent. The maid stood around awkwardly, wondering what else to say. "Then, in the morning," he finally said, "could you kindly tell Mrs. Standfield something?"

"Certainly; what?"

"Tell her that, in the month of her absence, Eleanora was getting married." Then he hung up.

The maid stood there, shocked, her mouth open. Eleanora— _married_?! But that was impossible! She was so ugly and crass and everything…There _must_ be some mistake!

Eleanora swore in the kitchen and Bella peeked at her. She had spilled some strawberry sauce on her long white gloves that she had suddenly started wearing and tore off the left one.

There was a ring on her left ring finger—a beautiful black wedding ring.

Bella gasped and ran upstairs to Mrs. Standfield. This couldn't wait until morning. Eleanora was married! Married without permission! Absolutely disgraceful. She would get fired for this.

Eleanora slipped her white glove on again, blissfully unaware of the ax that was about to fall on her head.


	24. Chapter 24

Sebastian regretted telling the Standfields about Eleanora's marital status. Now that they knew, he had nothing to blackmail her with. That was the problem with blackmail: it became ineffective the moment it was used.

He deeply wished that he had some other form of dirt on her. She hadn't been at the Phantomhives for a week. They had had to do the party without her. It went off alright, but it would have gone much smoother if she had been there. He tried calling the Standfields to ask about her, but they insisted that they didn't know anything about her and hung up.

Eleanora appeared a day after the party. She was wearing her ragged old black dress with the too-tight shoes. It was raining; she was shivering. She had knocked on the kitchen door and Sebastian had opened it. No one else was around.

She looked shocked, shocked and cold. Sebastian was also surprised to see her, but quickly masked it. She was undoubtedly angry at him for telling, and had refused to help with the party as a form of petty revenge.

"Hello, Miss Black," he said. "Would you like to come in from the rain?"

She weakly shook her head. She looked thin; she must not have been eating well.

"What is it, then?" he asked, trying not to lose his patience.

"I got fired," she said in a dull voice, as if even now she could hardly believe it.

"Fired? From where? Who fired you?" This was genuinely surprising news. But then again, maybe not so surprising. Her employers probably just got tired of her language.

"You fired me," she said, still in that scary, lifeless voice. "You told them that I was married and they fired me."

"They didn't!"

"They did," she said and brought out an envelope. "If you would kindly please give this to the Earl of Phantomhive."

He took it and examined it.

"Certainly. What is it?"

"It's a letter of resignation. Tell him not to bother with a letter of recommendation."

" _What?_ " He looked at her. "Surely you aren't thinking of _quitting_?"

"I've already finished thinking," she said and brought out a ring. "And you take this. Save it for a real wife. I thought that I could pawn it, but I realize now that it's not worth shit. Good evening, sir. Sorry to bother you."

She turned and strode into the darkness and into the rain.

Sebastian pocketed the envelope and looked at the ring. It was made out of black metal and studded with ruby slivers—it was Eleanora's wedding ring.

Ideas raced through his mind faster than he could keep up with them— _she's been fired; fired because I said that she was married; she's resigning from Phantomhive; she's given me her wedding ring…—_ but the first real thought that came to his mind was, _"The young Master is going to kill me."_

"Wait," he choked out. "Wait!"

He peered into the rain, but he was too late. Eleanora was gone.

The Earl was not pleased with the news.

"She _quit_?!" he shouted at Sebastian. "How could she _quit_? How could you let her _quit_? _Why_ did she _quit_? You go and find her and directly bring her back here!"

"Well, I'm _glad_ that she's gone!" Grell suddenly said. "The nerve of that girl—bursting in here and marrying _my_ precious _Bassy_ …"

"She didn't marry me," Sebastian murmured. "I married her." He had her wedding ring in his pocket; he couldn't stop turning it over in his fingers. "There's a difference."

"I don't care! I'm _so_ glad that Bassy's single again!" Grell twirled around and gripped Sebastian's arm, making him shudder.

"Who cares about whether he's single or not?! I want that girl back, and I want her back _now_!"

" _Ciel_!" Madam Red said sharply. "That's enough."

"But—"

"That poor girl. Forced to marry a man she doesn't love, then having to work two different jobs at the same time…It's enough to drive anyone away! I'm surprised she didn't leave sooner. You won't go around chasing her. She's suffered more than enough."

"But…I _need_ her."

"You've gone several years without her," she said sternly. "You can go back to that time."

Ciel scowled but didn't give Sebastian any orders.

The servants asked a couple of questions about what happened to that Miss Black, but he refused to answer. Although nobody said anything, it was decided unanimously anyway that the maid who was "Eleanora" would slowly slip into oblivion on its own. No one would ever mention her willingly again.


	25. Chapter 25

The Yard contacted Ciel with the confessions of those two men; the men that had killed the noble; the men who had committed the crime that Eleanora had witnessed: the men who had started it all. Sebastian couldn't help but hate them. If it hadn't been for them, Eleanora would never have lef—no, they never would have met. That's right. It didn't matter that Eleanora had left. The trouble had started when they had first met. That was it. He shook his head to clear away thoughts of her and tried to put the ring away. It was still evilly lurking in his pocket, despite his numerous efforts to put it away, someplace far, far away where he would never have to see it again. He didn't dare dispose of it permanently; after all, their contract still remained. The rings were a sign of that contract. And the contract must never be broken.

The young Master was calling for him. Some new information about the case. He sighed and put her ring on his desk in his room. He turned to leave, paused, and slipped the ring back into his pocket. He _really_ should get rid of it. He would do it this evening directly.

It was good that the contract only prohibited him from _speaking_ lies, not _thinking_ them, or else he wouldn't have been able to think at all.

The men had said that they had been paid to kill the noble in a bar in the East End. Some hooded man had approached them, bought them a couple of drinks, they had played several rounds of poker (the stranger had lost, perhaps on purpose) and then the man had suggested a way of them making it rich. All they had to do was kill someone and make it look like an accident. Easy-peasy.

The men had said that they had seen the stranger again at that very same bar, talking to some different men, every Monday. Monday was tomorrow. If they had any hope of apprehending the man responsible for the murders, it would be tomorrow.

"But that would mean journeying back to the East End, wouldn't it, my Lord?" Sebastian said tiredly.

"Well…yes."

"If you recall the last time we were in that vicinity, we were woefully unprepared. The only thing that got us through was—" He trailed off and looked away.

"…It was Eleanora," Ciel finished. "She had gotten us in and out. Do you think that we could do it again without her?"

"Certainly. It shouldn't be too hard."

"But you just said that we were woefully unprepared."

"My Lord," Sebastian said, smiling a little thinly, "this bar that the men mentioned isn't as far into the East End as last time. Besides, I'm fully capable of protecting myself—and you," he said as an afterthought.

"What if the reapers come back?"

"They won't come back. The bar will be crowded. They wouldn't dare to make a move." _"I hope,"_ he thought, remembering the angelica poisoning.

Ciel thought about it and decided that it would be worth it after all. They got dressed, trying to look as shabby as possible, remembering Eleanora's earlier instructions. They set out towards the East End, but Sebastian ended up carrying Ciel, who was barefoot and very quickly got tired of hurting his feet on the rough ground.

The bar, as Sebastian had predicted, was incredibly crowded. There was a line—or rather a mad throng—pushing to get inside. Sebastian had been able to shove his way through, carrying Ciel, but eventually he had to put him down. There were too many people to carry a child safely.

There was a brawler at the front door, stopping people from entering and shouting a lot. Sebastian and Ciel inched towards the door and Ciel was just about to slip inside when the brawler's arm shot out and stopped him.

"No minors!" the man shouted. "That or they pay double."

"I'm terribly sorry," Ciel said seriously, forgetting that he was supposed to be a ragamuffin, "but this is an emergency; I _must_ get inside…"

Again the brawler stopped him.

"Not without a toll."

"But it's an _emergency_!"

"Hell if I care!"

The brawler's voice was vaguely familiar. Ciel peeked up at his face and gasped.

" _Eleanora?!"_


	26. Chapter 26

Eleanora scowled down at Ciel. She was wearing a large hat that hid her hair and was rather dirty. She was wearing loose men's clothes and was speaking in a much deeper, hoarser voice than usual. Someone wouldn't have been able to tell that it was Eleanora if they hadn't taken a second look at her. Ciel was incredibly pleased to see her; he probably would have hugged her legs if he hadn't been in a hurry to get inside and if he wasn't so dignified.

"Eleanora," he said, trying to make his voice steady while still trying to shout over the throng, "please. We _need_ to get inside."

"Pay first," she said, shoving her hand into his chest.

"But don't you _recognize_ me?" Ciel cried and then realized that yes, she did recognize them, which was why she was behaving like that. Her face continued to scowl yet her eyes darted around the crowd nervously. If she had acted as if she had recognized them, it would be the worse for all of them. It was safer to treat them as if they were nobodies.

Sebastian accordingly stepped forward and shoved several coins into Eleanora's hand. She dropped her arm, allowing them to dart inside, and then her arm shot up again to prevent anyone else from getting inside.

"Pay up, you little mother—"

Ciel didn't hear the last word right because Sebastian had quickly hurried him away.

They really needed a brawler waiting outside the door. The bar was crowded enough as it is; if there had been no one guarding the door, no one would be able to move around. As it was, however, Ciel still kept on being shoved and pressed against legs and someone even spat at him as he scooted past a table. He tried to catch Sebastian's eye, but the butler was staring intently at the bar.

Sebastian had seen that hooded man that the two men had confessed had talked to him. He was sitting in the darkest corner of the bar. He couldn't tell what species he was; there were too many other souls in the building for him to properly tell.

"Young Master," he said, trying to be quiet but still having to shout to be heard, "I've found what I believe to be the aforementioned man."

" _WHAT?!"_

"I'm going to go and talk to him," Sebastian said grimly and strode forward, leaving Ciel alone in the drunken throng.

" _WHAT?! WHAT'S HAPPENING? WHERE ARE YOU GOING? COME BACK!"_

Either Sebastian hadn't heard him or he wanted to make Ciel suffer a little bit, but he continued forcing his way towards the bar. Ciel tried to follow, only there were too many people forcing him back, laughing, swearing, blowing their disgusting breaths into his mouth…

Someone grabbed him by the shirt and hoisted him up over the masses, shoving him into a corner where there weren't too many people.

"Now just stay there and shut up," Eleanora hissed and stalked back to the door, stealing a bottle of alcohol from a table as she went and taking a swig from it.

Sebastian sat down at the bar, a little bit aways from the hooded man but close enough so that they could both see each other. The bartender came over, looking tired, and asked him what he wanted.

"Grenadine," Sebastian said.

The bartender's bloodshot eyes widened a bit in surprise.

"Grenadine? You mean…like the syrup?"

"Yes," he said and placed some money on the counter. "Just the syrup, and put it in a shot glass and leave the bottle." He slid some more money over to the bartender. "And tear off the label."

"Y-Yes sir," the bartender said, taking the money and walking away, looking over at him quizzically. Sebastian ignored him and fingered the ring in his pocket. There was a mirror in the bar; he could clearly see Eleanora in it. She was still yelling and kicking people and taking bribes to enter. Sebastian wondered where she was putting the money and then saw her stealthily pull her shirt collar away from her body and tuck the money down there.

 _"Oh, that's naughty,"_ he thought. _"A gentleman really shouldn't be watching that."_ He craned his neck to get a better look and then the bartender brought the grenadine. He had taken the label off, as he had requested. Sebastian nodded and gave the bartender more money. Then he started taking shots of the syrup, downing them one by one while watching Eleanora in the mirror and trying to ignore the hooded man who was now carefully moving closer to him, seat by seat.

"Heavy drinker, eh?" the man said. He was now sitting in the seat next to him. Sebastian turned around and looked at him, easily masking his surprise. The hooded man was speaking in a coarse tone, like the lower-class, only he wasn't very good at it. It was evident to a sober man that he was upper-class.

Sebastian shrugged and took another shot of the syrup.

"Drink helps a man who's trying to forget his troubles," he said, faking a slight drunken slur.

"Oh, you've been through troubles then, have you?"

"Oh yes."

There was a silence; Sebastian realized that the man was waiting for him to elaborate.

"Well, first my wife left me," he finally said. The hooded man whistled.

"That's rough, man," he said. "Did you love her?"

"Of course I did," Sebastian said, taking another grenadine shot. That was odd; his hand with the contract wasn't hurting the way it always did whenever he told a lie. Maybe it knew that it was an emergency and that he would feel the pain later. Or maybe the grenadine was numbing the pain. He took another shot. Mm, it was good.

"That's rough," the hooded man repeated sympathetically. "Was she pretty?"

"In her own way," Sebastian admitted. "She had nice eyes."

"Oh? What color were they?"

"Blue."

"How blue?"

"Deep blue. Like…like a sapphire. That really deep, intense color." Sebastian was surprised at himself. It wasn't like him to remember eye colors, especially eye colors right off the bat. Stress and adrenaline must have sharpened his memory. He would forget what color her eyes were tomorrow.

The man whistled again.

"You still love her, then?"

"I…suppose," Sebastian said cautiously. All this talk about Eleanora was making him uncomfortable. He didn't want to reveal anything else about her—or about himself. But the man didn't seem much interested in his wife.

"You take out your frustration in any way?" the man asked casually, playing with his glass. The man had a bottle of vodka next to him, but Sebastian didn't smell any alcohol. Also the man was taking shots from the bottle as easily as he was drinking his grenadine.

 _"He must have filled up a vodka bottle with water,"_ Sebastian thought. _"No human could drink that much vodka in one sitting."_

Sebastian wasn't really sure what drinking vodka was like—as all alcohol is poison to the unholy—but he had heard that it was really vile and not easy for beginning drinkers. And this man looked like a beginning drinker.

"I did," Sebastian said, also trying to keep his tone light. "Some men assaulted me and tried to rob me and I beat them all up. Seven of them. It was fun. Made things easier."

This wasn't technically a lie; he really had gone against seven men who had tried to rob him. It hadn't happened _recently_ , but it _had_ happened, and that meant it was a half-truth, so technically not a lie. Demons are good at loopholes like that.

"Really? Seven men?" The hooded man looked impressed. "Hey—I like you. What say we go to the back room and have a friendly round of cards, hm?"

Sebastian grinned and polished off his bottle of grenadine.

"Certainly. But I warn you—I'm pretty good at them."

"That's awfully convenient," the man said, slapping his hand on Sebastian's shoulder. "Because I'm terrible at them myself."

Ciel was getting very tired and very sick. The smell of alcohol and dirty bodies was overwhelming. And plus he couldn't find Sebastian. He had seen him at the bar. First he had talked to the bartender, then he had started gazing very intently at the mirror. Once he even saw him craning his neck to get a better look at something; he probably was trying to find Ciel. Then the bartender brought him a label-less bottle filled with a bright red liquid and Sebastian began downing shots like he had been drinking all of his life. Ciel wasn't sure what the liquid was, but apparently Sebastian enjoyed drinking it. He hoped that his butler would stay sober enough to concentrate.

Then the hooded man and on the other side of the bar came over and they talked for a while and then the hooded man and Sebastian stood up and went to another room, laughing and talking. The hooded man kept slapping Sebastian on the back and Sebastian looked incredibly triumphant, as if something had gone directly according to his plans.

That had been an hour ago and they hadn't returned. Ciel shuffled around; his bare feet were getting cold and he wanted to go home.

The bar began to change. People started to mellow out and shuffle outside. Men went upstairs with prostitutes and the bartender began putting up chairs.

"Bar's closing in ten minutes," he said to Ciel as he passed.

"Th-Thank you," Ciel said. "Have you seen a man anywhere?"

"Kid, I've seen three thousand just today."

"He's outside," Eleanora sighed, entering the building. "I saw him. Pay up, Jimmy."

The bartender scowled at her but walked over to the cash register on the bar anyway.

"It's criminal to make me pay you," he grumbled. "I've seen all the money you've pocketed. I shouldn't have to pay you. You're making three times as much as I pay you from all the bribes you take."

"Ah, you can never have not enough money," Eleanora said, gleefully taking her payment and striding towards the door.

"Wait, that was a _bribe_? Meaning we didn't even have to _pay_? Come back here!" Ciel followed Eleanora out onto the street.

Sebastian was waiting by the side of the building, looking a bit cold.

"Young Master," he said upon seeing them. "Are you ready to depart?"

"I've been ready for hours," Ciel grumbled, hopping up and down. "Did you find out everything you wanted to know?"

"Yes sir."

"Then let's get out of here."

He looked around and his stomach dropped. It was awfully dark outside.

"E-Eleanora?" he called out.

Eleanora, who had been walking away, looked over her shoulder.

"Hm?"

"Where's all the gas lights?"

"Can't afford them," she said shortly. "Most of us get where we need to be by memory only. Good evening, gentlemen."

"Sebastian," Ciel said, turning to his butler, "you remember the way—right?"

Sebastian looked a bit sheepish, slightly sheepish but mostly annoyed.

"I can't be expected to remember _everything_."

Ciel groaned in annoyance and impatience and turned back to Eleanora, who by this time was little more than a shadow in the distance.

"Eleanora!"

"What?"

"You have to escort us back!"

"Ppff, I can't do that. I don't remember where the hell you live. And I'm not dumb enough to wander around these parts at night— _especially_ with a bodice full of money."

"…Then take us with you?"

"Give me one good reason why I should."

"I'll give you several," Sebastian said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a bunch of coins, which tantalizingly jingled. Eleanora paused, thinking.

"Follow me and hurry up," she finally said irritably and strode into the darkness with Ciel and Sebastian behind her.


	27. Chapter 27

"I'm home," Eleanora said tiredly, entering a small shack. Ciel and Sebastian cautiously followed her in and then Ciel promptly wished to leave again.

Eleanora lived in a crib.

"E-Eleanora," Ciel squeaked. "You don't—This isn't—Are you—?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Eleanora said. "I just share the place."

"Share it? With whom?"

"Oh, is that you, Mary Ann?" a woman's voice came from a decayed bed on the other side of the room. "I thought I heard you come in. Who's your friends?" A prostitute sat up in bed and smiled sleepily at the newcomers, modestly hiding her nakedness with a blanket.

"Forget em, Ida; go back to sleep," a man said irritably.

"Hello Joe," Eleanora said. "Having fun with your whore?"

"I _had_ been, until _you_ came in," Joe said, glaring at her. "The hell you doing ere? I thought you was working elsewhere. Celebrated your exit, I did."

"So sorry to crush your dreams," Eleanora said sarcastically. "But I work here now."

"What? As a bitch? Wouldn't mind getting a taste o that ass…" Joe grinned sleazily at her rear.

"Touch me and I'll make you a eunuch and feed you the remains," Eleanora said sweetly. "Ida, these are our guests. Keep your clients off of them, will you?"

"Certainly," Ida yawned. "How d'ye do, gents?"

"H-Hello," Ciel said. " _This_ is where you live?"

It was just a one-room shack with two half-broken beds crammed inside, covered in ratty blankets and worn pillows. There was a rotted desk with a cracked mirror leaning against the wall. One half of the desk was crammed full of makeup and torn gloves and fake gems while the other half just contained a locked box.

"Be grateful; most people don't have it this good," Eleanora said, striding over to the desk and unlocking the box.

"'This _good_?'"

"You know, for a kid with no place to go, I'm not hearing much in the manner of 'gratitude.'"

"We're very grateful," Sebastian said firmly, interrupting a fuming Ciel. He placed some coins in Eleanora's hand, much more than he had originally intended to give her. "Thank you so much for your hospitality."

Eleanora scoffed and tossed the money into the box. It was filled with more money, as well as some random doodads and junk that must have been very precious to her for some reason.

"E-Eleanora?" Ciel whispered, leaning in close to her. "Where's the restroom?"

"Out that door," Eleanora gestured to a door on the right. Ciel opened it and looked inside.

"Eleanora, this is an alley," he said coldly.

"Uh-huh, and you'd better hurry up and do your business before someone notices you."

Ciel winced but went outside anyway and closed the door behind him.

"By the way, who is this 'Eleanora?'" Ida asked. "Surely they can't mean _you_ , Mary Ann?"

Eleanora shrugged and removed her long heavy coat and her hat. She was wearing her usual black dress underneath the coat, but the dress didn't have long sleeves and so didn't hide the bruises that dotted her arms.

"What?" she said when she noticed that Sebastian was staring. "You can't brawl for a night and come out without a scratch."

She turned around again and quickly slipped off the top of her dress. She leaned over the desk and all of the money that she had collected in the night clattered into the box. She put the top back on and locked the box. The key was on a rope that was tied around her neck, like a necklace.

She sat down heavily on her bed and sighed.

"Aren't you going to sit down?"

Sebastian silently sat down next to her. The prostitute and the client fooled around for a bit more, slightly muffled because they both wanted to go back to sleep.

"Hey!" Ida said playfully to Sebastian, whose eyes had been wandering around the room. "Wait your turn. Or are you contented with just watching? And here I thought that you were a gentleman!"

"You misunderstand me," Sebastian said. "I have absolutely no interest in either you or your profession."

Ida turned bright red and she yanked the covers over her head, muttering "rude ass". Eleanora nudged him with her elbow.

"Be nice; you're a guest here."

"Please forgive me," he said and instead watched her. She was tracing her calloused hands over her bruised arms and staring gloomily at the floor. "Does it hurt?"

"Does what hurt?"

"Your arms—those bruises."

"They're a little sore, but this is nothing. It'll be worse in the morning. Then I'll be aching like hell."

"Why do you brawl, then?"

"Pays the bills."

"So does being a maid."

"In case you've forgotten, I can't be a maid anymore. No one wants to hire a married maid."

"Phantomhive does."

Eleanora told him where he could shove his Phantomhive.

"But I can't imagine that you like this kind of life," Sebastian said. He had already gotten used to Eleanora's language; it didn't bother him anymore. "Brawling every night and living with a prostitute…What do you do in the daytime?"

"Eat, mostly," she shrugged. "I don't have enough time to eat in the night, so I eat in the daytime."

"How much sleep do you get at night?"

"Geezus, why do you care?"

"Just wondering."

"I get enough."

"But how much?"

"! off, Mommy; I don't need your babying."

"I was only trying to help," he said quietly.

Eleanora laughed, a cold, half-forced laugh.

"'Just trying to help,'" she muttered. "Where the hell was your 'help' when I needed you?"

"You needed me?" He was surprised; he never thought that she would ever 'need' him. It was a surprisingly nice feeling—to be 'needed.'

"Of course I did. I needed you to shut up about my marital status—and you told. And now that I don't need you, now that there's nothing you can do for me, _now_ you want to help me?" She laughed again. "God, this whole situation is like one bad clichéd joke that nobody got the first time."

"Don't say such things," Sebastian said.

"How can I not say such things? It's true."

"It's not."

"And how would you know?"

"I just do."

"Oh, then that must change everything, right?"

"Oy, lovebirds," Joe shouted from the other bed, "shut up."

"Shut up, Joe."

"That's what I just _said…"_

Ciel burst into the room, panting.

"That was horrible," he gasped. "Never again. Never, ever, _ever_ again."

"But did you do your business?"

"Y-Yes…"

"Then what's the problem?"

"It was horrible! It was nasty and disgusting and—"

"Never mind; I don't really want to know," Eleanora said and stood up with a groan. "You can have the bed, if you like."

Ciel leapt for it immediately, but Sebastian caught him in midair.

"I think that the lady should get the bed," he said.

Eleanora looked around.

"A lady? Where?"

"Very funny," Sebastian said, raising his eyebrow at her.

She was actually confused.

"…I meant you."

"Oh!...But I'm not a lady. And the Earl should have the bed. That's fair. That's healthy."

"How is it healthy?" Ciel asked.

"Well, I know that, if you don't get the bed, you'll spend the whole night whining, so…"

"I do not _whine_!"

"Of _course_ you don't," Eleanora said kindly. "But you should still get the bed. You're a noble. You don't know how to sleep on floors."

Ciel glared at Sebastian, as if daring him to change Eleanora's mind. Sebastian wasn't much in the mood to argue, so he just sighed and allowed the young Master to flop down on the bed. Eleanora sat by the door and leaned against the wall. Her eyes closed…

"I'm hungry," Ciel said.

"Tough," Eleanora said.

"Aren't you hungry?"

"Always."

"Isn't there food around?"

"Joe ate it all."

" _What_?" shouted Joe. "You can't just blatantly _accuse_ me like that! I have _rights_! I have—"

"But did you eat all the food?"

"…Yes. But that's precisely beyond the point here…"

"Joe?"

"Wut?"

"Go back to your whore. Shut him up, Ida."

Joe looked furious, but Ida whispered something into his ear and he calmed down. They both lay back down and pulled the covers over their heads. Ciel waited until all was quiet and then he whispered.

"Sebastian?"

"Hm?"

"Are we safe here?"

"As safe as anyone can be here, my Lord."

"You won't fall asleep, right?"

"No, my Lord."

"Good," Ciel sighed and also—somehow—managed to fall asleep on the bed.

Sebastian stood up and sat down next to Eleanora.

"Are you going to go to sleep?" he whispered to her.

She shrugged.

"You should," he said. She shrugged again and smiled. "What? What is it?"

"Tomorrow," she whispered, "you're getting the hell out of here."

Then she closed her eyes again.


	28. Chapter 28

Eleanora slowly woke up in that way where one feels that they're waking up, but they also vaguely realize that, if they wanted to, they could go back to sleep again and no one would be the wiser: that nice, comforting, pleasant feeling. She smiled and wrapped her arms around her pillow—it was an odd pillow; it was kind of hard yet kind of soft and it was cylindrical. She buried her face into it…It smelled nice, like lilies. And she was warm, so warm…She hadn't been this warm in forever. Someone was gently smoothing her hair and that felt so wonderful…She was about to fall asleep when she realized that no one in their right mind would ever actually want to pet her hair so kindly.

Her first thought was that she had died and gone to heaven and an angel was doing it. Her second thought was that she probably wasn't good enough for heaven so she had died and gone to hell and a demon was doing it, just to mock her. She opened her eyes and saw the half-rotted, dirty floor of the crib and realized that her "pillow" was actually someone's leg.

She made a sound similar to " _YAAIII_!" and leapt away, hitting her back against the wall. "Ow…"

"Are you alright?" the butler asked, completely casually, as if he didn't care that she had just spent the last minute cuddling with his right leg.

"You—Who—What—" she choked out and pulled the coat that had been draped over her shoulders tighter around herself—and then she realized that this was _his_ coat. "Wh-What happened? What'd you do?"

"I did nothing," he said, still as infuriatingly calm as ever. "You did it yourself."

"Why? What did I do?"

"You fell asleep," he said, stretching his arms, "and then you fell down on my lap."

"And you didn't wake me up?"

"No."

"Why the hell not?"

"Firstly, I have decided that you're the type of woman where waking you up is dangerous to my health. Secondly, I thought that you might need the sleep. And thirdly—" He trailed off, paused, frowned, looked away.

"And thirdly…?"

"Never mind; it's not important."

"But isn't this _your_ coat?"

"It is."

"Why'd you give it to me?"

"You were shivering."

" _SO_?"

"So, as a gentleman, I couldn't just sit by and allow a lady to freeze."

"I don't know what's funnier: the fact that you think that I'm a lady or that you consider yourself to be a gentleman."

Eleanora groaned and stood up, tossing the coat aside. Her prediction last night had come true: everything ached.

"Ohhh, what time is it?"

"About noon, I should think."

" _What_? _Already_? You have to _leave_! _Now_!"

She yanked the blankets off of her bed and Ciel fell to the floor.

" _OW_! Wh-What is it? What's going on?"

"You have to leave," she said. "Hurry up and get a move on."

"Why do we have to leave so suddenly?" Ciel yawned. "I'm still tired."

"Because I want you to get out of here as fast as possible. Come on: move move move!"

In five minutes they were out the door and Eleanora had locked it.

Ciel and Sebastian looked at each other.

"…Do you remember the way out?" Ciel finally asked.

Sebastian blinked, sighed, and knocked on the door.

"Go away," Eleanora said sulkily.

"Miss Black," he said sweetly. "We have great need of your assistance again."

"Go away."

"We'd be most grateful to you."

"Go away."

"And there'll be a reward for you at the end."

Silence, and then she opened up the door again, looking marvelously annoyed.

"Fine," she said icily. "I'll get you back to your townhouse. But then I never want to see you again."

"Thank you," he said, smiling brightly.

"Hm," Eleanora said and shoved past him. "Well, hurry up; I haven't got all day!"

Sebastian picked up the bare-footed Ciel and they followed Eleanora through the East End, which was far tamer in the daylight than it was at night.

It didn't take very long to get from the crib to the townhouse. Ciel was incredibly pleased to be back in proper civilization and demanded a bath right then and there.

Sebastian went inside to get him all set up while Eleanora waited in front of the gates for her payment.

"Sorry for the wait," he said, coming back out. "The young Master didn't like the temperature of the water."

"It's fine," she said. "But do you think he'll be alright?"

"Yes, why?"

"I mean, he's not going to drown in the bathtub, right?"

"I doubt he's as stupid as that," Sebastian assured her and paid her. "But then again, I have been wrong before."

"Hm," she said and gave a small smile. He couldn't tell whether she was smiling because she thought he was amusing or because of the money, but he frankly didn't care. It was a nice smile either way.

That is, if humans even _had_ nice smiles, which they didn't. He was just overtired, that was all. It wasn't _that_ great a smile. And she hadn't even looked _that_ cute while she was sleeping on his lap. In fact, she hadn't looked cute at all! _Cats_ were cute. Eleanora was disgusting. End of story.

She was about to pocket the money and thank him when a young man ran by them, so quickly that Sebastian hadn't even realized that something was wrong until Eleanora shouted,

" _HEY!_ He stole my money!"

Then he promptly sprang into action.

He was behind the young man in two strides, then he leapt up and quickly planted his foot down on his back, pinning him to the ground.

"H-Hey man; I'm sorry, I didn't mean nothing by it; I'm sorry man; I'm sorry…Hey, HEY! Wait a moment! That's _my_ money!"

Sebastian had recovered Eleanora's payment and, as a bonus, had also deftly taken the man's wallet.

"You'd better leave," he said coolly, stepping off of the man's back, "and get out of here before I call the police."

The man opened up his mouth to protest, saw the expression on Sebastian's face, and then decided that it wasn't worth it. He ran off, sobbing.

Sebastian watched him go, and then turned back to Eleanora.

"Here," he said, giving her money back to her, "and, a dividend." He gave her the wallet.

Eleanora was staring at him wide-eyed.

"That was…That was…"

"Yes?"

"That was…amazing…" she said, and for the first time, she looked at him with respect and—dare he think it?—admiration. "That was just…wow. That was incredible! You were amazing!"

"Oh—Thank you," Sebastian said, suddenly feeling very awkward but also very pleased with himself.

"Well…Goodbye," she said, giving him a real, genuine smile. "Thank you for everything."

She sauntered off. Sebastian watched her leave.

 _"That's odd,"_ he thought. _"She seems to be moving in slow-motion."_

And someone, somewhere, was playing a nice piece of classical music.

And he felt strangely light and ecstatic, as if he was walking on air, which was completely ridiculous. But for the rest of the day, absolutely nothing bothered him. The young Master whined and complained; the servants ruined things, as usual; but he still remained utterly at peace and the light feeling never left him.

 _"I'm just tired,"_ he told himself over and over. _"I'm just overtired. Some rest and I'll feel normal again."_

But he subconsciously realized that deep down, he didn't _want_ to feel "normal" again. He wanted to remain like this forever.

But he would be fine in the morning. Everything would be fine in the morning.

He lay down on his bed for a quick half-hour or so of rest. The last thing he thought about before he fell asleep was Eleanora's smile.


	29. Chapter 29

The target was the son of an Earl; Master Wallace W. Wallace. Ciel didn't dare to ask what the "W" stood for.

The hooded man had taken Sebastian to a back room, where they had played several rounds of poker. Sebastian won them all.

He probably would have won them all anyway (he was a pretty good card player), but there was something off about the way the hooded man was playing: he was playing specifically _to lose_.

Sebastian could "see" the cards; as well as knowing his own ones, he knew the cards of his opponent as well as all of the remaining cards in the deck. He could switch them around at will and simultaneously confuse or erase his opponent's mind so that they wouldn't be able to remember that they had the Ace of Spades—a card which was now safely in Sebastian's hand. Even he wasn't entirely sure why he had this ability; perhaps it was because cards were the "Devil's picture book." It was a handy trick; one which had helped him more times than he could count.

But he hadn't had to use his ability in those games in that back room. He saw the hooded man's cards, of course, but he also saw how the man played.

If he could quote Eleanora, he "sucked."

He had gotten a pretty decent hand every now and then, but he always discarded his best cards, kept his worst cards, kept on increasing the pot, and always seemed surprised whenever Sebastian would beat him.

Normally Sebastian would chalk up such a terrible card player to simple human stupidity, but he recalled that the two men who had confessed also said that they had gone to a back room with the hooded man and had played several rounds of cards—all of which the men had won.

The hooded man kept on making light, casual conversation; simple pleasantries which Sebastian had always hated.

"So, what do you do for a living?"

"How's your job?"

"How's your life?"

"Anything exciting happen today?"

"Have any pets?"

Sebastian was so desperate to have the hooded man—again, to quote Eleanora—"shut up" that he spent hour and a half talking about cats, which seemed to seriously disturb him. But still, nothing daunted, he continued asking all sorts of polite, meaningless questions:

"How much are you paid?"

"You have a nice boss?"

"Where are you from?"

"Nice weather over there?"

Sebastian once tried to play badly, just to see how the hooded man would react. He never hesitated; he just kept playing worse than he did. It was all very weird and irritating, but Sebastian was comforted by a thought: the back room wasn't as crowded as the bar, so he was able to see the man's soul: he was human.

Eventually Sebastian said that it was getting late and he really should be getting home. The man said that he would walk him out, and then he slung his hand over Sebastian's shoulders and quickly led him into a dark corner.

"Hey," he said, "now listen closely, because I rarely do favors for other people. But I like your face, and I feel really bad for you—what with your job and your wife and all. How would you like to make an extra pound or two?"

 _"The deceits humans tell,"_ Sebastian thought, smirking. It was truly obvious that this man was lying to him—so obvious it was almost pitiful. But he masked his amusement and pretended to be as wide-eyed and as drunk as possible.

"Oh, yes! Yes, I would just _love_ that!"

"Well, then, I'll tell you what to do:" the hooded man leaned in closer and shoved some papers into Sebastian's hand. "It's really simple; all you have to do is find a guy, kill him, and make it look like an accident."

"But isn't that murder?" Sebastian asked as innocently as possible. "Won't I be caught?"

"Not if you do your job right," the man said, "and there shall be a _big_ reward for you if you do manage to pull it off!"

"Hmm," Sebastian said, pretending to think. _"How stupid can these humans get? So easily tempted into doing evil…"_ "Of course I'll do it," he said, increasing his slur. "I'd be _delighted_ to."

The man grinned underneath his hood.

"Great! I've already given you all the information. And _here's_ a little something…just to thank you for your help…"

The man shoved some coins into Sebastian's hand.

"Oh, and one more thing:" he leaned in closer, "let's have this be a little secret between us two, shall we?"

"Of course," Sebastian assured. "I wouldn't even _think_ of telling a soul."

Which was yet another loophole, as he wouldn't really "think" of telling anyone; he _knew_ that he was going to tell someone.

The man grinned, slapped him on the back, called him a "good, honest man," and then he had left.

When they had arrived back at Phantomhive, Sebastian had shown the young Master the papers that the man had given him. They detailed the victim and the best place to get him. Ciel hated to admit it, but the hooded man was a real professional. Everything was mapped out, down to the last detail: next Wednesday, Master Wallace W. Wallace would return from out-of-town. He would go through a little wooded area, where there would be a cliff overlooking a ravine. All one had to do was wait for the carriage to pass, stop it, drag out the victim, kill him, and then leave without leaving a trace. The way that the man had suggested was to throw him down into the ravine and make sure he gets properly beat up that way, and then drop him into the creek flowing through the ravine so that he would drown. Plain and simple.

"But we're not going to do that," Ciel told Sebastian. "You're going to kidnap him and take him to Scotland Yard. I'll meet you all there."

"'All,' my Lord? Who's 'all?'"

"Oh," Ciel said, waving his hand aside, "just you and Grell and Agni and Eleanora. The usual."


	30. Chapter 30

Master Wallace W. Wallace was having the time of his life. His parents had tried to send him off to yet _another_ prestigious boarding school, this time far away from London and its earthly pleasures, but he had been able to get expelled and was now on his way home. God bless the man who had invented fireworks!

Yes, everything was going his way. He had not one, not two, but _three_ escorts in the carriage with him! All of them were young, beautiful ladies who _clearly_ worshipped him. He could tell because they spent a lot of times rolling their eyes when they thought that he wasn't looking—a _sure_ sign that they thought he was the biggest and best thing since Big Ben.

The carriage passed through a heavily wooded area and began circling up, passing over a ravine. Wallace W. Wallace didn't look out the window as the carriage rolled on; he had no interest in nature, especially nature in the middle of the night.

"So as I was saying, it's _obvious_ that the world is flat; I mean, just _look_ at it; if it was _round_ , we'd _all_ be rolling around right now, right?"

"Uh-huh," one his escorts said.

" _So_ true," another said in that biting way that most women used around him. If he didn't know better, he would have called it "sarcasm!" Good thing he knew better.

But then the carriage suddenly stopped. It stopped so suddenly that Wallace W. Wallace was thrown into the seat across from him. Normally he wouldn't have minded so much, but the woman who was sitting across from him had scooted away so that his face smashed against the cushiony seat, which didn't hurt, but it would have felt _much_ nicer if he had landed on a woman.

" _HEY!_ " he shouted, getting out of the carriage. "What the _hell_ is going on here? I _demand_ that we keep moving…"

He trailed off in surprise. There were four hooded figures standing in front of them. One of them had the coachman. They all had guns.

"Alright, everyone out of the carriage," one of the figures said coolly. "Get everyone out! Green, go."

One of the figures stepped forward and dragged each of the three escorts out.

"Anyone else?"

"It's empty."

"Good. Everyone, line up and turn around."

The one with the coachman stepped forward and deposited him in the line. Wallace W. Wallace also made a move to join their ranks when one of them—the one they had called "Green"—had grabbed him and dragged him back.

"Oh no, not you, sunshine."

" _Excuse_ me!" Wallace W. Wallace said, offended. "Do you _know_ who I am? I am _Wallace W. Wallace_!"

Three of the figures glanced at the fourth one, who checked a piece of paper in his pocket.

"Yes, it's him. Get him inside."

The Green one shoved him back inside the carriage and climbed in, pointing a gun straight for his head. Another one shortly followed.

The one with the paper got up into the driver's seat and whistled.

"Grey!"

The last one, who was still pointing a gun at the four others, ran over to the paper one and climbed on. The first one made a clicking sound and snapped the reigns and the horses ran on into the night, leaving the coachman and the women behind.

Wallace W. Wallace shrank back into his seat, cowering before the two hooded strangers.

"L-Listen," he whimpered, "just let me go and I'll make it worth your while; I have extremely rich parents; I'm sure that they'll reward you?"

"Really?" asked the one who wasn't pointing a gun at him. "How much are we talking?"

Green jammed an elbow into the other's side.

"Shush, Blue!"

"Is everything alright in there?" one of the drivers asked.

"Just fine, Red!" Green cooed. " _Awfully_ lonely in here though…"

The one called Red scoffed and went back to driving and his conversation with the one named Grey. The two in the carriage with Wallace W. Wallace didn't talk to each other; it seemed that the Green one didn't like the Blue one. Wallace W. Wallace wondered what genius gave them their names. Now look at his name: Wallace W. Wallace! Now _there_ was a name! Just _thinking_ about it made him want to repeat it a million times! Wallace W. Wallace. Wallace W. Wallace.

"Wallace W. Wallace," Wallace W. Wallace murmured to himself, "Wallace W. Wallace. Wallace W. Wallace. Wallace W. Wallace."

"Shut up," Green and Blue chorused in one voice and Wallace W. Wallace whimpered and again tried to vanish into his seat. Apparently they agreed on the most important things.

At least they didn't seem intent on taking him someplace dangerous. They were merely heading back to London. Perhaps his parents had heard of his expulsion and had prepared this little surprise just to teach him a lesson. He wouldn't put it past them. He forced a small laugh.

"Heh-heh," he said nervously. "My parents sent you, didn't they? To teach me a lesson. Well, lesson learnt! So if you could just drop me off somewhere, like a pub or something…"

"Shut up!" they said again and Wallace W. Wallace shut up.

They weren't going to a pub. They weren't even going back to the Wallace St. Wallace Mansion. They were heading for Scotland Yard.

"Now, really!" Wallace W. Wallace said, offended. "This is _really_ too much; I've _learned_ my lesson; there is _no_ reason to turn me into the authorities…"

"Shut up!"

"What is it?" Red asked. "What's going on?"

"He won't shut up about his parents," Blue said.

"Point a gun at him or something, then; honestly, I thought you two could _handle it_ …"

"We _can_ handle it!" they chorused again and this time they _both_ glared at him and pointed guns at his head, as if blaming him for making them look bad.

They stopped at Scotland Yard and Green (rather unnecessarily, he thought) jammed his gun into Wallace W. Wallace's back to get him out of the carriage quicker.

"Come on; move it!"

There were several policemen waiting inside for them, as well as a richly-dressed child with an eyepatch and the head of Scotland Yard, Lord Arthur Randall.

"This is him?" Randall said coldly when all five of them were inside.

"This is him. Wallace W. Wallace?" the child asked, standing up.

"Y-Yes…"

"It's him," the kid said. "Take him away and keep him safe."

"'Keep me safe?' Why? What's going on? What's happening? When do I get my one phone call?"

"Tonight," the child said coolly, "you were almost murdered."

" _Murdered_?" Wallace W. Wallace gasped and then realized something. "That's _right_! I almost _was_!"

" _WHAT_?!" Ciel and Randall looked at each other and then at him. "Almost murdered? By whom?"

"By _them_!" Wallace W. Wallace said, pointing at the four hooded figures standing behind him. " _They_ almost killed me! They kidnapped me and they drove me here and they deposited me here! Arrest them immediately!"

The child groaned and pressed his hand on his forehead.

"I can see why his parents wanted him gone," he mumbled.

"What'd you say?"

"Nothing," the kid said hurriedly. "Master WW.W, these four people just saved your life."

" _What_? Impossible! I refuse to believe it!" He also chose to (temporarily) ignore the temporary rudeness of shortening his simply wonderful and especially creative name.

"Believe-it-or-not," the kid said. "Tonight, someone was hired to kill you. These people interfered and have gotten you here, to safety."

"Alright, I think that's enough from _you_ , Lord Phantomhive," Randall said. "Thank you for your assistance. Feel free to leave now."

"Of course, Lord Randall," Ciel said. "Thank _you_ for all your assistance. Come along, you four." And he strode out of the building, with the hooded persons following him.

Wallace W. Wallace was kept in Scotland Yard for a month to ensure his safety, but it wasn't bad. His parents visited often and—even more importantly—dozens of impressed young ladies came over to hear him tell and retell the story of how he was _almost_ murdered by four hooded ruffians. The first story was fairly true-to-life (only with less him whimpering in the carriage and more of him providing witty comebacks), but the last story he told involved him single-handedly beating up his four would-be assassins and running several miles without pausing to Scotland Yard, where he had told his story and had his wounds treated (because of course he had gotten shot several times; twice in the head, apparently).

Meanwhile, Ciel, Red, Grey, Green, and Blue (who were, of course, none other than Sebastian, Agni, Grell, and Eleanora) had returned to Phantomhive. Ciel had taken Eleanora aside and they had whispered to each other for some minutes and she had left him, nodding.

"My Lord, what happened?" Sebastian asked once she had left.

"Oh, nothing; I just convinced her to work for us again."

"Really? How?"

"I told her that it was inconvenient for all of us to run to-and-fro from the East End to get her assistance in a job and that we were paying her more and in a steadier way than she was earning from her brawling." Ciel glanced at Sebastian. "I hope this won't be a problem?"

"No sir. No problem at all."


	31. Chapter 31

Going back to Phantomhive hadn't been as disastrous as Eleanora had anticipated. The butler generally ignored her, the servants were all nice, the young Master was busy annoying the butler; everything would have been perfect except for the fact that everytime Madam Red would come over, she would bring her butler, Grell, and Grell was always monumentally unfriendly to Eleanora. Not enough to make her seriously worried, but enough to make her dread his coming. Or was it a her? Eleanora could never tell what gender Grell was…Maybe that should be a gender all of its own: a "Grell."

But it didn't matter. Life was good. She was getting paid with a good honest job, she had a roof over her head and three meals a day. What more could she want?

Well, she could have been a single woman, but one couldn't have everything, right? At least she rarely had to talk to the butler.

Sebastian hadn't thought much of Eleanora since that day that she had smiled at him. All of his thoughts that surrounded her mostly went like, _"I must tell Eleanora to start thawing the chicken,"_ or _"I have to remind Eleanora that today is her turn to wash the bathrooms."_ Simple, work-related things like that. Every now and then he thought about the smile-day—it didn't bother him much. It had been something that had happened, and now it was over, and it would never happen again, so why think about it? The only lasting impression that it made on his mind was that it proved that Eleanora wasn't a _complete_ rude, sarcastic, irritating woman; she still had feelings and all that. He stopped thinking about it all shortly afterwards.

One day, Eleanora, Bard, and Mey-Rin were sitting around the kitchen, working. Eleanora was supposed to be doing the dishes, but what she was mostly doing was looking out the window. It was getting rather overcast outside.

 _"That's a bad omen,"_ she thought. Then she shrugged and continued with the dishes. She wasn't a superstitious woman; a little rain meant rain and nothing else. The soap was making her hands slippery; she almost lost her dratted wedding ring to the drain.

 _"And maybe that wouldn't be so bad,"_ she thought, putting it back on her finger. _"This ring has been nothing but trouble for me from the start."_

The butler had given it to her shortly after she had started working again and it was just as beautiful to her as the day that she realized she was married.

Suddenly the door flew open and two men walked in.

"I'm coming in!" the first one said needlessly. "Is Earl Phantomhive in?"

"Who are you?" Bard asked, standing up.

The man just grinned.

"That's none of your concern," he said. "Where's the Earl Phantomhive?"

"But it _is_ our concern," Bard said, standing in front of him. "Who are you?"

"Oh, so you'll play with me?"

The man suddenly unsheathed his sword and attacked Bardroy. The cook ducked just in time and then Mey-Rin began shooting guns. Then the man ran forward and slashed them, ruining them and leaving her defenseless, and then Eleanora chose that moment to break a metal platter over his head.

The man didn't faint; he seemed to have a hard head; he turned around, grinning like a maniac and was just about to stab her when something interfered between them, something which splattered cream all over her cheek.

It was the butler; he had shoved a dessert platter between them and the psycho had impaled a cream puff.

The servants just stood there as the butler smooth-talked his way out of the situation, causing the first man to sheath his sword and then all three of them—the butler and the two men—left the room to find the Earl of Phantomhive.

"What was _that_ all about?" Bard asked.

"I don't know," Eleanora said, licking cream off of her cheek, "but I hope I never have to see that man again."

So saying, they cleaned up the kitchen and then got back to work.


	32. Chapter 32

The two men had come to ask the Earl of Phantomhive to host a party for someone…Someone important…and foreign…And that was all Eleanora could remember. She wasn't one for names. Or people. Or really anything that she thought didn't matter. Which was almost everything.

They didn't have much time to get ready, and soon the date of the party had arrived. Eleanora stood in the corner, as usual, watching all of the guests drink wine and chat about their fancy rich-people problems. There was a soft rumble of thunder outside and she looked out the nearest window. Oh, it was raining. Well, that was nice. She always liked rain.

The butler finished walking around the room and stood by her, blending in the shadows easily, as if he was half-shadow himself.

"Some party," he said.

"I thought it turned out well," she said.

"So far," he said, looking around at all the guests. "Some of them…" He trailed off and shook his head, as if shaking off a bad omen.

"What—you don't like some of them?"

He turned to look at her, a deep, serious expression in his eyes.

"Have you ever gotten the feeling that someone is a very bad person?"

"Certainly."

"Like who?"

"Like you!"

She snickered at her joke and Sebastian's intense look changed to one of exasperation.

"Can you ever take anything seriously?"

"Not if I can help it." She smirked at him. "Life's too short, so you might as well be sarcastic."

"Such words of wisdom! I must remember to write them down."

"Ouch," she said and nudged him playfully. "You're quite the sassy one yourself, aren't you?"

"I've always preferred 'witty,'" he said and smirked back at her. Then he seemed to notice that something was wrong with his precious party and he walked off, leaving her alone again.

She leaned against the wall, mulling over his words. _"The feeling that someone is a very bad person?"_ Well, there was the butler, naturally; she realized that she could _never_ trust him; but who else? There was some weedy looking man sitting on a chair across from her; he looked like a wallflower; nothing dangerous. There were two rich-looking people; theatre persons, she assumed. There was a loud guy and a nervous guy and a big German man and two Asians and that Queen's butler—what was his name again? Chuckie or something. No, Charles. She frowned at the glutton with a sword—she didn't trust him at all. There was something about him that really irked her…She couldn't put her finger on it, but thinking about him made her wonder if, given the choice, would she rather trust him or the Phantomhive butler? This was an unusual thought and she was just about to explore it further when the big German man suddenly noticed her.

"Hellooooo," he slurred, leaning in. "What'ssss _your_ name, pretty *hic!* one?"

 _"Shit,"_ she thought and curtseyed, trying to smile.

"Forgive me, my Lord; there is a matter that I must attend to," she said in a light tone and tried to scoot away from him, preferably heading for the kitchen. She knew all about men, especially drunken bastards like _his_ type, and she knew that the best thing for her was to get as far away as possible, as _fast_ as possible. But this man wasn't one to take "no" for an answer, because he leaned against the wall, preventing her escape route.

"Ohhh, don't be like that," he said, grinning sleazily at her. "Such a pretty body…Surely someone of _your_ type can't resist a _maaan_?" He stretched his hand out and squeezed her left breast. Eleanora controlled herself and stepped away from him.

"I must go," she said and turned away. He grabbed her wrist and tried to pull her back.

"Come _onnnn_ , don't be like _thaaat_ ; surely you doon't meeeean thaaat?"

 _"Don't disgrace the Phantomhives; don't disgrace the Phantomhives…"_ she thought, only she really couldn't think of a way out of this situation aside from slapping him several times and cursing him to high hell. _"Thinkthinkthinkthinkthink_ …"

"Mary Ann!"

Eleanora jumped and the German jumped and released her. The butler was approaching, scowling at her.

"Honestly," he said, "I thought I told you that you're needed in the kitchen. Why are you still out here? I do beg your pardon, sir," he said, bowing to the man, "please forgive our maid. Come _along_ now, Mary Ann." He grabbed her wrist and gently pulled her away from the ballroom and down to the servants' quarters. He shut the door and sighed. "There, now. Are you alright, Miss Black?"

Eleanora suddenly collapsed and leaned against him, panting. She had a certain quirk which helped her in some situations but was also rather dangerous: whenever she was scared, she would freeze up and not move. She had been scared in the ballroom so she had frozen and was almost at the mercy of that drunken _jerk_. She gripped the butler and tried not to cry.

"I hate men," she panted. "I really _hate MEN_."

Sebastian instinctively put his arm around her waist and held her closer.

"I know," he said softly. "Humans can be disgusting."

They remained like that for a time while she tried to control herself. Eventually she pulled away and wiped her eyes, hiccupping.

"Are you alright?" Sebastian asked, looking at her with something like mild concern. She nodded and hiccupped again. "I don't think that you should go back up there," he said. "Stay down here; you can help in the kitchen."

"But—the party…"

"Don't worry," he said firmly, pushing her towards the kitchen. "Just sit down and rest for a bit. I'll take care of everything."

She hiccupped for a third time and nodded. Sebastian smiled and left the servants' quarters.

Eleanora sat down at the kitchen table and sighed heavily. He had been unnaturally nice to her. She wondered why. Probably just being a gentleman—or something. Nothing to be concerned about. She was really mostly worried about the party—but there were other servants around, and the Earl. She was sure that—somehow—everything would turn out fine.

Sebastian made his way back up to the party, feeling a little lightheaded. Her hair had smelled nice—like roses.


	33. Chapter 33

Sebastian and the rest of the servants came down at around eight o'clock.

"The party seems to have finished," he sighed. "The young Master has gone to bed and the rest of the guests have spread out amongst the rooms of the mansion. How have you been here?"

"Fine," Eleanora said, stretching. "Peachy. I'm a little tired myself; shall we call it a night?"

"In a moment; we have to finish cleaning up after the party. Dishes and things."

"Alright," she said, standing up. "Let's get this over with."

An hour passed; they were finishing cleaning when a bell rang. Sebastian looked up.

"It's that German," he sighed. "I wonder what he wants now?"

Mey-Rin blanched; she squeaked and hid behind a chair.

"I-I d-don't want to go up there and face him again!" she said. "Wh-What if he t- _tries_ something?"

"I can go up," Eleanora said, removing her apron. "I don't mind."

"Really?" Sebastian looked at her. "Are you sure?"

"Of course. _I_ only had to deal with him for five minutes. Mey-Rin was stuck with him for three hours. I can handle it."

Sebastian sighed and removed his apron as well.

"I'll come too."

"What? Why?"

"Master Siemens seemed really drunk; I'm sure that he'll be requiring some male assistance."

He got a pitcher of water and they went upstairs. There was a crash of thunder.

"That's quite a storm," Eleanora said as they passed a window. "I hope that the guests can get out alright in the morning."

"Mm. Yes."

They arrived at the German's door and Sebastian knocked.

"Master Siemens? You rang?"

There was another peal of thunder, which almost hid the screams within.

"The hell…?" Eleanora said. "Master Siemens! Open this door!"

She pounded on it several times with her fist; the screams persisted and brought everyone else in the house to come running.

"What is it?"

"What's going on?"

"What's the meaning of this?"

"Let's break the door down," Sebastian said, handing the water jug to Eleanora. She nodded and stepped back, and in one quick, deft movement, the butler kicked the door and it broke off its hinges with a smash and everyone ran inside the room.

There was another roar of thunder and a flash of lightning, which very quickly illuminated the room before plunging it into darkness again. But the darkness suddenly didn't matter. The lightning had done its duty.

They had all seen the body of the German, reclining in his chair with a ghastly death-stare.


	34. Chapter 34

Eleanora had seen dead bodies before. The fact that there was a dead body in the room didn't bother her. The fact that someone had actually died in Phantomhive during a party was a bit more disturbing to her. The circumstances were far more bizarre than the actual occurrence. How could somebody just drop dead and die in the middle of a party? Who did that? That was so rude! And in an Earl's manor, no less. Perhaps it would have been more understandable if the dead person was a relative or a close family friend, but this was a _guest_. That was even _ruder_. And just plain _weird_.

She almost dropped the water pitcher, but luckily, as she always turned stiff when frightened, she almost crushed the handle in her grip.

 _"If it could happen to a guest,"_ she thought as she looked at all the others, _"it could happen to anyone here…"_

All of the other people around had looks of horror on their faces—all of them except for the butler, that is. He had a pensive face, but it wasn't the _right_ kind of pensive face. It wasn't the kind of face one would have when they were thinking:

 _"OH SHITNUGGETS; SOMEONE JUST DIED HERE; I NEED HELP RIGHT NOW SOMEONE CALL THE POLICE SOMEONE DO SOMETHING I AM TOTALLY FREAKING OUT HERE!"_

Which was of course the right attitude to have at the moment.

The butler's thinking face was more like as if he had just realized that someone had eaten the young Master's cake:

 _"Hmm, now let's see, who could have done this?"_

Which was totally inappropriate; Eleanora desperately needed him to start panicking.

Mostly because that was what she was about to do.

She remembered what had happened at the party—she had gotten hit on by the murdered man, almost slapped the bejeezus out of him when she was rescued by the butler and spent the rest of the evening in the kitchen— _alone_. Nobody was with her. Nobody saw her. If attention was diverted on her…if they thought that she had done it…All she would have was her word, and her word wasn't worth shit. She could be a suspect. She could be jailed. She could be _hung_.

 _"I'M TOO YOUNG TO DIE; I'M TOO YOUNG TO DIE; I'M TOO YOUNG TO DIE AND I DIDN'T DO IT I SWEAR ON THE SOUL OF MY MOTHER AND THE SOUL OF MY FATHER IF HE'S NOT ALREADY DEAD YET WHICH I HOPE HE IS HORRIBLE BASTARD!"_

She caught the eye of the butler, who looked at her and raised an eyebrow.

And something happened. It was almost like magic. She just suddenly felt calmer, as if he was telling her to calm down.

 _"It's alright,"_ he seemed to say. _"They don't know where you were. Nobody is suspicious of you. Besides, I know that you're innocent. I know you didn't do it."_

She nodded at him and he nodded back. He even smiled at her, which she didn't return. She was not in a smiling mood, and besides, it was horribly rude to start smiling in the presence of a dead person.

Meanwhile, the servants and the guests were arguing about what to do. One of them wanted to wait until the police arrived, but the cook said that they had to move the body now.

The body was accordingly moved and then that damned Earl Grey piped up.

"I want insurance," he said. "Insurance that we'll get out of here alive."


	35. Chapter 35

Eleanora was pacing her room, trying to decide what to do. The whole evening had just been one big flop. First the murder, and then the young Master was accused for absolutely no reason, and then he was forced to sleep chained to another man…She was feeling sorry _for_ him. At least she was off the hook. What would have happened to her if she had been accused of murder? She would never get another job in her life!

There was a knock at her door and she jumped. She pulled up her dress and removed a gun from her garter.

"Who is it?" she called out, trying to keep her voice light.

"It's me," the person on the other side said.

"Who's 'me?'"

"Sebastian."

"…Who?"

A sigh.

"…The butler?"

" _Oh!_ _You!_ I'm coming."

She opened the door; he was waiting outside, looking a bit irritated.

"You know, I didn't even know that you _had_ a first name," she said.

"Everyone has a first name," he said, entering. She closed the door and turned to look at him; he was staring out the window at the rain.

"How's the young Master?" she asked softly.

"Not as bad as I expected," he said. "I thought he would put up more of a fuss, but he's being surprisingly complacent."

"I see," she said. There was a pause. "Who do you think…you know…did it?"

"I'm not sure yet," he said. "Why? Are you worried?" He turned to look at her.

"Well, naturally. I mean, if a noble can be murdered, why can't a servant?"

He just smirked and continued looking out the window.

"What? You aren't worried?"

"No. Humans are weak. It takes a lot to get rid of someone like me." He turned to look at her, still smiling. She was sitting on her bed, looking gloomy.

"Miss Black?"

She shrugged.

"I don't know," she said tiredly. "I just really hope that all this business can be ended quickly."

"I'm sure it will be," he said. "Well…Goodnight, Miss Black."

"Goodnight, Mr. Michaelis."

He hesitated as he passed by her and then gently stroked her hair.

"Don't worry about anything," he said. "I'll take care of it all."

And he left.


	36. Chapter 36

_Miss Black…_

 _"Miss Black…"_

"Miss Black!"

Eleanora woke up with a small scream; she reached under her pillow for her gun and couldn't find it; it was on the desk, far out of reach.

Sebastian gazed at her.

"I'm sorry," he said, "but Bardroy already pulled a gun on me and I'm not in the mood for another."

He waited until she stopped swearing before continuing.

"I apologize for the late hour," he said, "but it's urgent."

"How the bloody ! did you get in here? I locked the goddamned door!"

"I knocked several times and you didn't answer. I was forced to open it myself."

"What if you were a murderer? I could be dead now!"

"Lucky for us then, that I'm _not_ a murderer. Now pay attention."

"And this _really_ couldn't wait until _tomorrow_?"

"No," he said. "It couldn't."

"I hate you," she informed him and then settled down to listen.

He didn't speak for a while. He just looked at her.

"What? Something on my face?"

"No," he said. "I just wanted to look at you for a while."

"Like what you see?"

"Mostly," he said. "You have very nice eyes."

Eleanora stared at him.

"They're blue," he continued.

"Brilliant," she said, finding speech again. "How long did it take you to figure that out?"

"You're a very smart young lady, you know," he said, ignoring her last comment.

"Thanks for…I'm what?"

"Tomorrow," he said, "and the days afterward, things might be a bit…up in the air."

"Why? Because of the murders?"

"Yes. And I want you to handle it all."

" _ME_? Why me?"

"Because out of everyone in this mansion, you're the one I trust the most."

Eleanora lost her voice again.

"You're not much for strength. Or speed. Or stamina. I remember all the times you managed to hit me," he gently touched one of his eyes, "and you managed to do that not by your fighting prowess, but because you were able to catch me off-guard. Not many people can do that. It's an excellent gift."

"We're glad you approve."

"I'm serious," he said, turning to her again. "Tomorrow, you're going to be in charge."

"What about Tanaka? Don't you trust him? Isn't he older and wiser and everything?"

"His stamina is a bit…unstable. And sometimes I question his intelligence. I've never questioned you yet, Eleanora. Please take care of everyone in this mansion, particularly the young Master." He rose up. "Now go to sleep. I leave everything in your capable hands."

"Mmm…" Eleanora said, already falling asleep. "I'm still wondering why we couldn't have had this conversation in the morning…"

"Because things will be different in the morning," he whispered and closed and locked the door behind him.

Eleanora was mostly-asleep until a thought jolted her awake.

 _"He called me 'Eleanora.'"_


	37. Chapter 37

_Eleanora…_

 _"Eleanora…"_

"Eleanora!"

Eleanora woke up with a jolt.

"Uggghhh; can't anyone get a little _sleep_ around here?" she said. "What the hell's the problem _now_?"

The one who had risked life and limb to wake her up was the gardener. He was crying.

"Finny? What's wrong? What happened?"

He sniffed and pointed downstairs.

"S-Something's happened; we don't know what to do…"

"What?" She suddenly felt cold. "Has there been another murder?"

"Y-Yes…"

She didn't remember much after that. Just brief flashes of what had happened. Now she had her night robe…Now she was downstairs…Now she was upstairs…Now she was in the hall…

"The hell you wake me up? Why didn't you wake up the butl…"

She opened the door that Finny had pointed to and stopped short. She realized why they couldn't have woken the butler.

The butler was dead.

Mey-Rin was crying. Tanaka was sniffling a bit. Even Bardroy looked tragic. Eleanora slowly entered the room, which reeked horribly of blood.

"What—" she said. "What—"

She collapsed by the butler's side.

"He's not—Is he?—He can't be—He's not allowed to be—"

She picked up his gloved hand; it was limp. She tried feeling for a pulse and couldn't find one.

Finny sniffled a couple more times.

"Lady," he said, "what are we going to do?"

 _"Tomorrow and the days afterward, things might be a bit…up in the air…"_

For the oddest of reasons, Eleanora was remembering the butler's words last night.

 _"Tomorrow, you're going to be in charge…"_

"Eleanora?"

 _"Please take care of everyone in this mansion, particularly the young Master… I leave everything in your capable hands."_

 _"He knew_ ," she thought. _"The damn bastard knew all the time. He knew he was going to die. He knew and he dumped all of his responsibilities on me. The damn bastard. He knew."_

Eleanora couldn't hold back a sniff herself. She looked up at Tanaka:

"What are we going to do?"

Tanaka made three very small, sad "ho"s.

 _"Fat lot of help_ that _is,"_ she thought and then sighed. Well, the butler—dead though he was— had given her her orders, and orders she would follow. She slowly rose up and controlled herself.

"All of you, go wake up everyone," she said. "Tanaka, please wake up the young Master. Lead everyone here, and nobody touch anything."

"But…shouldn't we move…him?"

"We will," she said, looking down at the butler's lifeless face. "We'll move him as soon as everyone sees. They deserve to know what happened…what he looks like…and everything." They stood there for a moment, hesitating. "Well? Hop to it!"

They nodded and dashed out, leaving her alone with the corpse.

Again she knelt by his body and brushed a strand of hair away from his face. His eyes didn't even look at her. They were looking upwards. Well, that didn't necessarily matter, as he wasn't really seeing much of anything anymore.

Would anyone hire a widow? She knew that divorcees never stood a chance of getting a job, but maybe someone would take pity on a widow. Thank goodness they hadn't had children. No one in their right mind would hire a single woman with children to support. But either way…

"Bastard," she sighed. "You bastard."

She knelt over him and a teardrop fell on his cheek.


	38. Chapter 38

"Eleanora, do you know where the key is?"

She looked up from pouring the tea.

"Hm?"

Ciel repeated his question:

"Do you know where Sebastian kept the key?"

"What key?"

"The key that...opened the box…with all the other…keys."

"Oh, _that_ key," she nodded, as if she knew what he was talking about. "Why do you need that key?"

Ciel re-explained their plan and Eleanora blanked out again. So much had just happened...First the perverted German had died, then the perverted butler had died, and then that weird shrimpy guy—what's-his-pathetic-face—had died. She wasn't sure if he was perverted or not, but he probably was. She was not in an open-minded mood.

And the young Master had caused a scene in the room where the butler had died, which had been incredibly embarrassing. Eleanora had gotten over her distress by the time the others had arrived and had the presence of mind not to look disturbed; she tried to look as bored as possible, as if butlers were murdered regularly in Phantomhive— _"Oh, what a pity; there goes another one"_ —type of thing. She couldn't disgrace the Phantomhives, especially in such a crucial time.

Yes, calmness was of the essence, but so much had happened that she was still quite unable to wrap her head around anything, so once the young Master had finished explaining and looked at her expectantly, all she really said was,

"Wut?"

"The _key_ , Eleanora," Ciel said, losing his patience. "Where did Sebastian keep the key?"

Sebastian…Keys…Keys…Sebastian…Tea…

"I don't know," she said dully. "Why don't you check his body?"

Ciel rose with a sigh.

"Fine. You're coming with us."

" _Me_? Why?"

"Because you're his wife and maybe you'll remember something on the way there," he said, giving her a look over his shoulder. "What—you're not squeamish, are you?"

She scoffed.

"Please. As if I've never seen a naked man before."

"…I was talking about you seeing his corpse again."

"Oh." She thought about it. "Well, I don't care about that, either."

They left the room, leaving the guests staring at each other, wondering what on earth had just happened.


	39. Chapter 39

It wasn't on his body. The young Master and the others checked _very_ thoroughly. The wordsmith—whatever his name was—and the Earl Grey had given Eleanora strange looks when she was just standing there, waiting for them to get on with it, and the young Master told her to turn her back to their…obscene work.

She did so obediently, but she really didn't care much at all. She had seen naked men before; naked dead men were no different. They were probably even better than live naked men because a live naked man usually had other things on his mind besides the weather.

They finished searching and were back to square one. Ciel looked at Eleanora, as if expecting her to magically produce a key from somewhere—as if she could just cough a key up. She sighed. Children could really be so useless sometimes…

"For goodness sakes, if it's not on his person, check his room!"

So they all went up to his room.

Eleanora had never been in the butler's room before. It looked so… _bare_. Normally servants brought something with them—some keepsake or trinket or maybe something from home. She herself had a box in her room which was filled with various garbage that for some reason she found comforting. The butler's room had absolutely nothing.

"Well," Ciel sighed, "let's get started."

They all fanned out and started searching, opening drawers and cabinets and looking for something— _anything_ —that vaguely resembled a key.

Eleanora was starting to get bored. Normally, poking through someone's room would be rather fun and exciting, but that all that fun and excitement was severely diminished by the fact that there was absolutely nothing fun or interesting in the butler's room. Open a drawer—shirts. Open another drawer—trousers. Open a cabinet—a bunch of tailcoats. The man had only the one outfit. The only thing that seemed remotely interesting was that he had two boxes— _big_ boxes—exclusively for gloves. One box had been neatly labeled CLEAN and the other one was labeled WASH. The CLEAN box was filled with thousands of neatly-folded gloves. The WASH gloves didn't seem to be all that dirty, but what did she know? She wasn't a religious glove-wearer. She wore long white gloves every now and then, but they were only on special occasions to hide her wedding ring and the pentagram symbol on her upper left arm.

The pentagram symbol. She vaguely recalled seeing the same symbol on one of the butler's hands. Was that what he was hiding? Some stupid tattoo? Ridiculous. He was probably a germaphobe or something. Or maybe he had really sensitive hands.

She sighed and opened up another drawer. This one had underwear.

 _"Nothing to see here,"_ she thought and was about to close the drawer when she realized that now was her chance to do something really naughty. She hadn't been allowed to look at the butler's naked body, and the desire to do something lewd and sinful rose up within her. She looked around; no one else was paying attention to her. Now was her chance.

She began rifling through the underclothing and then realized that what she was doing had absolutely no value whatsoever.

 _"_ This _is considered indecent?"_ she thought, staring at the undergarments. _"This is just another piece of clothing."_

She felt uncommonly dumb and was just about to put everything back again when she noticed a very small key hidden underneath the underwear.

The key looked too small to be really important; it probably went to something else. Like a diary or something. Wouldn't that be fun? To open and read the butler's diary; maybe finally be able to hold her own against him…

But wait. That wasn't possible. That would never happen. He was dead.

She sighed again. Dead as a doornail. He would never irritate or torture or bother her ever again.

She closed the drawer but kept the key in her hand. Who knew? It might prove useful.

She was sick and tired of looking at boring butler clothing. She moved over to the desk and began opening its drawers. Papers…Envelopes…Pens…Stamps…Books…Hello, this one was locked.

She looked around again; still nobody was paying attention to her. She knelt in front of the desk and tried the bottom drawer again. Still locked. She would need a key—a very small key.

And a very small key was what she had! She stuck the key that she had found into the lock and the drawer opened. She hated to admit it, but that butler was—or had been—a clever devil. No decent person would go looking through a gentleman's underwear. Already the incident was making her feel ashamed, but on the bright side, no one had seen her and no one knew except for her. She began rifling through the now-open drawer:

The first thing that she saw was a large file, which looked as if it had been carefully protected but still constantly opened and its contents read and reread. She took the file out and opened it:

It just contained two very official-looking documents. Legal things. How boring. She absentmindedly scanned the first one and paused.

It had been signed by Earl Ciel Phantomhive.

She glanced at the Earl; he was staring at the wardrobe; she went back to the paper.

No, there was no doubt about it: that was his signature. The other signature next to his seemed to be written in a different language. The ink used was a very dark red—as if they had signed it in blood.

Which was absolutely ridiculous, of course. She didn't dare to force a laugh, lest anyone else turn to see what she was laughing at—and looked at the other document. This one looked far more familiar…

It was her marriage contract—the one that legally forced her to be married to that damned, now deceased, butler.

 _"Why did he have this?"_ she thought, staring at her signature. _"And why would he keep it with another contract between him and the young Master?"_

It made no sense, but apparently he liked consulting it, because it looked well-read. It was still in marvelous condition; both of them were; as if the butler's whole existence relieved on contracts.

She set the file aside and took out the next thing in the drawer: a photo album, divided into three parts. The first part consisted of thousands of photos of cats, each one labelled in the precise, neat handwriting of the butler. She couldn't resist smirking at some of the names:

 _Fluffy…Mittens…Muffins…Missus…_

She couldn't spend all day looking at photos of cats and reading their names. She flipped to the second part:

The first photo was of a woman, an achingly beautiful woman. Eleanora couldn't help but stare enviously at her. She looked like some kind of a Venus. It was black-and-white, so she couldn't tell what color her hair or eyes were, but the effect wasn't diminished by the lack of color. She was still the very epitome of beauty.

Her hair spilled down her back in natural ringlets. Her body was just the right size and shape: perfect hourglass curves without being too fat or too thin. Her eyes were laughing and she had the kindest, most amazing smile. There was something familiar about that smile…It was the butler's smile. The woman had the butler's smile.

The photo below the woman was of a man. This man was familiar as well. In fact, he looked exactly like the late Sebastian Michaelis…only he was thinner, with gaunter cheeks. His eyes seemed to have dark circles underneath them, so dark they looked as if he had been punched in the face. His hair was medium-length and tied back with a bit of ribbon. He was smiling as well, only his smile seemed far more evil than the woman's. Maybe it was because his incisor teeth were far longer and sharper than normal.

But it didn't matter. He and the butler—one and the same. She wondered who he was—who he and the lady were.

There was a sinking feeling in her stomach. The man looked just like the butler. Maybe it was because he actually _was_ the butler? And the woman…maybe she was his _wife_?

But that was just preposterous! He was already married to her!...And then he died and now she was a widow, but still! Could he really have married twice? Maybe he was a widower before he married her. Or maybe the beautiful woman was still alive? Maybe he was—or had been—a polygamist?

She was feeling sicker by the minute as she turned the pages of the photo album. The following photographs were always of the man and the woman, or sometimes showing both. They were both beautiful and glorious and obviously deeply in love with one another. There was a photo of the man kissing the woman's neck and the woman laughing. There was another of them sitting in a garden, with them sitting on a swing, smiling lovingly at each other. There was another of them recreating the balcony scene from _Romeo and Juliet_ , only the man was on the balcony in a dress, looking overly dramatic, and the woman was below him, laughing with tears in her eyes.

Eleanora couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy. This is what she wanted. She wanted a love like that. She wanted a man to look at her the way that the man in the photographs looked at the woman. But if the man truly _was_ the butler, and the beautiful woman was his wife…The thought alone was almost too much to bear. Would the butler ever be able to love like that again? More importantly, would he ever somehow learn to love _her_ like that?

As if he could. He was dead. Dead and she would never marry again. By the time her mourning period would end, she would be an old hag. No one would ever want to marry her, let alone love her.

She kept on flipping through the photographs, watching the man and the woman smile at each other, kiss each other, laugh with each other, clearly adore each other; it was almost becoming too much for her and then there was a photograph of the woman and she was holding a baby…

Eleanora quickly turned to the third and final section of the photo album. It was blank. Well, that was a bust. She turned the pages quickly and distractedly to get to the end as fast as possible when she stopped.

There was a photograph on one of the pages. It was of a school—a Barnardo's home—with some of its pupils lined up in front of it. They all looked deeply unhappy and uncomfortable, all prim and proper in their ratty school uniforms…Eleanora remembered those uniforms. They were horrible.

Someone had drawn an arrow, pointing to one of the students. She squinted, trying to concentrate on the girl's face…

It was her. Oh god, she remembered this photograph. She and a bunch of other students had to pose for a photograph to advertise the home…She hadn't seen it in years. How did the butler manage to get it?

But no, it was undoubtedly her as a little girl. Why did the butler go to all that trouble of finding it? More importantly, why was it in the photo album, particularly as how there was another much prettier woman inside of it?

A couple more pages and there was yet another photo of her. This one she remembered much more distinctly. A couple of months ago Madam Red had stopped by with a camera. She had wanted to take a bunch of pictures and did so for about a week before she lost interest. This one showed Eleanora sitting demurely on a chair—one of the few that she had actually posed for. The next page had another one. This time she was acting as if she was scrubbing the floor. The third one—the last one that she had posed for—was with her and the butler. They were standing stiffly together, looking very uncomfortable and about as unloving as one could get. Eleanora remembered how Madam Red had yelled at them while the photo was being taken:

 _"Look at each other! Smile! At least hold hands or something! For goodness sakes, at least try to look like a happily married couple!"_

The next few photos were still of her, but rather blurry. They were candid; she hadn't wanted to pose for any others. She thought that Madam Red still had all of these photos and that there were no copies. Why had the butler preserved them? And why were they all of her? She wasn't special enough to deserve her own part in a private photo album…

The very last photograph showed her at the kitchen table, head down, asleep. She didn't remember Madam Red taking that photo, and she had always shown the pictures immediately after they had been developed. There was a shadow falling across the kitchen; it must have belonged to the person who had taken it. Let's see, there was a head with an informal haircut…the body was very stiff and professional…they seemed to be wearing a tailcoat.

 _"Goddammit, the butler took a photo of me while I was asleep."_

She probably would have been filled with more rage if the young Master hadn't screamed. She whirled around, just in time to see a bunch of cats come jumping out of the wardrobe.

Things got settled rather quickly after that; the young Master went to stand in the hallway to control his allergies. Eleanora peeked into the drawer; there was just one more thing left—a journal.

She began flipping through the pages; the butler had carefully documented every day, usually to record something that had to be done tomorrow, but every now and then mentioning a certain occurrence. On a whim, she flipped to that one date, the day that ruined her life:

 _Bardroy blew up the kitchen again. Repaired it. Finny destroyed garden. Fixed it. Young Master complaining about the noble killings. Kidnapped the maid and took her to the local church basement. Found a stray kitten. Kept it. Thinking of naming it Twisty. Lost one of my gloves; must buy new pair._

That's _IT_? One lousy sentence? That was all that mattered to him? He didn't care about the next month filled of agony and tortures and how that one day—that one kidnapping—had singlehandedly ruined her whole life? She was boiling with anger; she flipped to that other day:

 _Twisty ran off. Found him again. Mey-Rin broke more dishes. Had to order in replacements. Expect them by next week. Young Master got a small cold today. Enjoyed watching him suffer. Got married. Found stray pregnant cat. Naming her Bundles. Can't wait to see kittens. Had to order new tailcoat. Expect it by tomorrow._

Again, one sentence. Half of a sentence, really. So that was all she meant to him. She didn't deserve anything more than one sentence. Even the sacred act of getting married meant nothing to him. She flipped to the last several entries. She was half-expecting the last one to be something like: _found stray cat. Naming him Snuggles. Was murdered. Guest broke lamp. Had to order new one. Expect it two weeks from today._ But there wasn't an entry for this day, so she had to read the last one, yesterday's entry:

 _German guest murdered. Still thinking about it. Gave orders to the servants. Went to see Eleanora. Worrying about my cats outside in the rain. Hoping the young Master won't find out about them._

"Went to see Eleanora." That was a far different statement from "gave orders to the servants." He had distinctly separated the two. Why? Why, when only a few months back, she didn't even deserve half a sentence? What changed?

Her head hurt; there were too many questions and not enough answers; everyone else had finished searching the room. She put the journal, the album, and the file back into the drawer and locked it. She tossed the key back into the underwear drawer on her way out and went back upstairs, thinking.


	40. Chapter 40

She was still thinking as she and the servants began to prepare dinner. It wasn't much of a dinner—that Earl Grey was the biggest glutton that ever lived—but they were trying their best.

She was still thinking when there was a knock on the door. She was still thinking when she went to answer it.

Some old man was standing there, holding a briefcase. He didn't look happy to see her, but maybe he just had one of those faces—where the features seemed inclined to frown.

"Good evening," he said in a stiff, polite voice. "And who might you be?"

"Depends on who's asking," Eleanora said, matching his bored tone. "And just who the hell are you? And why the hell are you prowling around this manor in this weather?"

She figured that she was allowed to use such language; he was entering through the servants' door, which meant that either he was an equal or beneath her. She hoped that he would get the message and then leave, muttering apologies, but instead he just cracked a grin. His skin didn't seem to like it; it was the weirdest skin she had ever seen—more like a mask than anything else.

"Fiery one, aren't you?" he said. "I admire a fine woman with spirit. But I was summoned here by the Earl of Phantomhive."

"Oh really? And could you prove it?"

"I could, but only to the Earl."

"Why? Why not to me? And here I thought that we were getting along so smashingly…"

"My delight would know no bounds to be acquainted with such a lovely young lady like yourself, but I'm afraid I can only disclose myself to the Earl of Phantomhive."

"Then I'm afraid I can't let you in," Eleanora said, "and if I have to let you in, you're going in as a suspect."

She stepped aside and allowed the cook and the gardener to do their duty.


	41. Chapter 41

The man's name was Pastor Jeremy Rathbone, which Eleanora thought was rather a silly name, but then again, she wasn't the one who thought it up. In a way, his name was fitting because as Eleanora despised his name, she also despised the one to which it was attached.

He was so vain, waltzing in like he owned the place, elegantly allowing himself to be tied up and then, after he had been presented to the Earl of Phantomhive and then released, calmly and coolly took over the murders, as if he had done absolutely nothing in his whole life except for solving murders. Mighty suspicious, what with his flawless alibi and all. She didn't trust him at all.

Eleanora couldn't stand him. She excused herself and went to fool around with the dinner ingredients, trying to think of a way to feed a bunch of guests when one had a bottomless hole instead of a mouth. She wondered what the butler would do if he was around. It was such a shame that he was _too_ perfect; now no one would be able to replicate his methods and thought processes. She sighed and leaned against a kitchen counter, trying to think about the matter at hand and not how her late husband was a damned selfish bastard who rudely died instead of staying alive and helping her…

"Are you crying?"

She jumped and looked behind her. That old guy—Pastor What's-His-Ugly-Face—was now downstairs with her. Shoot. She had so looked forward to spending an evening without seeing him. Couldn't a maid have _any_ time to herself? What—she had only been down here for five minutes…fifteen minutes, tops...

She glanced at a clock. _Three hours_. Wow. Time really did fly when one was at a loss.

"I'm not crying," she sniffed and turned her back to him. She had no time for talking to pastors.

But Jeremy didn't get the hint that he wasn't wanted and moved to stand beside her.

"Are you thinking of your husband?" he asked softly.

Eleanora looked away.

"Yes."

"Are you missing him?"

"Not really," she said and sniffed again. "I don't miss _him_ , exactly; I just wish that he was here so that he could take care of it all." She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "He told me that he was putting me in charge, and I thought that I could handle it, but…" She sighed, which effectively held back a sob.

"Poor thing," he said and his voice was filled with genuine sympathy as he offered her a handkerchief. "It must be hard on you—to suddenly be tasked with keeping such a huge mansion as this running smoothly, _especially_ with all of this unpleasantness going on."

Eleanora sniffed again.

"Thank you; yes, it _is_ unpleasant."

She sighed again, hiccupped once and then felt better. She even smiled up at the pastor, who smiled back. Geez, he was tall, as tall as that butler, maybe even taller. She had never trusted people taller than her, but maybe he wasn't all bad. Her first impressions had been wrong before.

"By the way, have you discovered what killed them?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"I mean, what killed all of the murdered people."

"Yes. You see, George von Siemens faked his death…"

" _WHAT?!_ "

"…before he was actually murdered from being stabbed in the chest. Then the butler—forgive me for mentioning him—but I'm sure that you know that he died from a blow to the head and then a stab in the chest."

"This murderer seems to enjoy stabbing people in the chest," Eleanora said. "Do you suppose—No, forget it."

"What?"

"No, it's nothing."

"I'd be most anxious to hear your thoughts on the subject, Miss Black."

"Do you suppose that—maybe—that Earl Grey did it?"

Jeremy raised an eyebrow.

"What makes you think that?"

"Well, if two of the victims died by stabbing…The only one in this house with a sword and the insane mentality to keep twirling it around…is the Earl Grey."

"You'd make a fine detective, milady."

"Oh, I really wouldn't go _that_ far," she said, embarrassed. "But what about that last man—the pathetic one, who's name I can't remember?"

"Ah, _him_. He is an interesting case. But I wouldn't worry too much about him. I doubt that the murderer will return."

"Oh? What makes you say that?"

"I have found enough evidence that gives me the strong impression that the butler—before he passed away—had taken ample care of the murderer beforehand."

"You mean he killed him? The murderer?"

"Interpret it as you will, Miss Black," Jeremy said, again in that soft, almost gentle voice, "but I don't think you should allow it to prey on your mind."

Eleanora wanted to say something snappy to him, something like, _"how could it_ not _prey on my mind?"_ but before she could, Jeremy clapped his hands together.

"In any case, I can't help but notice that you seem to be having trouble preparing tonight's dinner. If you don't think it too bold, might I offer you my assistance?"


	42. Chapter 42

The sun came out the very next morning. It was surprisingly cheering to see it, despite the unpleasantness of last night.

Eleanora had been sure that the murderer was Earl Grey. All signs seemed to point to it, but for some reason, that diamond man—who she hadn't even given a thought to—had done it. She wasn't sure why; she didn't particularly understand the motive; if she was perfectly honest, it all seemed too convenient. As if they were hiding something.

Then again, she didn't really know who "they" were. The Earl of Phantomhive? Unlikely. What did he have to hide? He had thrown a normal party, not even messing about with the criminal underworld. The butler? But he was dead. Jeremy? But he was a pastor—and he was leaving this very morning. The whole thing was highly suspect, but Eleanora suddenly realized that she didn't want to think about it anymore. What a party. The whole thing had just been one long nightmare from start to finish.

And she was still husband-less. That was one problem solved—she would never be tormented by him again—but that also opened the doorway to tens of thousands of other problems. Where would she find another husband? Would she have to wear black for ten years? Did she still have a job? Would she ever find another job? Who the hell was that woman in the photo album? And would she come for Eleanora's blood, saying that she had caused Michaelis' death?

She was so, so tired. All she wanted to do was sleep. She said goodbye to Pastor Jeremy and thanked him sincerely for all of his help. Who knew? Maybe without him, everyone in that manor would have slowly died off, one by one.

"Goodbye, Miss Black," Jeremy said, kissing her hand like a true gentleman. "Please do look after yourself."

She had thought that he would offer her assistance whenever she would need it, but maybe he thought that she didn't need it—or want it—or refuse it if it was offered. It actually would have been nice to have the help of a real gentleman whenever she would need it, but maybe she was already asking too much. She had known him, and that was enough. It was cheering to know that there were still real gentlemen like that in the world.

 _"That's the man I should have married,"_ she thought as she watched him leave. _"Maybe I should have offered him my maid services, and then, in a year or so…But never mind that now."_

She would probably never see him again anyway. And they had gotten along so well…But it was no use crying over spilled milk. Everyone was exhausted; the Earl had kindly given them the day off so that they could properly recuperate over the events of the past days. Eleanora dragged herself upstairs, to where the women slept, and collapsed onto her bed. Her last thoughts were of Pastor Jeremy:

 _"That's odd,"_ she thought as her eyes closed, _"I'm sure that we were never actually formally introduced, but for some reason, he knew that my last name was Black. Must be his detective skills or something."_

And then she was asleep.


	43. Chapter 43

The funeral for the butler was held the next day. All the strange numbness that Eleanora had felt upon seeing his body for the first time came back—that feeling of impossibility; that what was happening couldn't really be happening; that it's all just a bad dream.

But no, it was really happening. This was really happening. They were actually burying the butler.

She thought that it was a bit disrespectful to bury the man dressed in his tailcoat. She thought that the Earl could have sprung for at least a suit or something, something that didn't relate to service. The man had served all of his life and now he would be serving in death, not a chance of freedom even after life. How sad.

She didn't look at the body as it passed. Instead she stared at the tombstone. It was a nice enough stone; she liked the saying on it— _May ye be in heaven an hour before the devil knows you're dead_ —although she didn't know why it applied to the butler. Maybe he was a sinful man.

But of _course_ he was a sinful man; and probably insane to boot; no nice, _normal_ man would go around kidnapping and then torturing maids so that he could get married. It was foolish to pity him; he didn't deserve any pity.

So why did she feel as if she was going to start crying?

 _"Nerves,"_ she consoled herself. _"Pure nerves. I hate funerals. I'd cry if even a demon was being buried."_

The coffin was placed in the hole and the dirt was tossed over it and they were starting to go back home again when Elizabeth—Ciel's fiancée—suddenly threw herself at him.

"He lied!" she sobbed. "He promised you that he would never leave you! He _lied_! How could he! He _lied_!"

Now everyone was crying and Eleanora had to look away again. For some reason she was recalling the marriage vows that she had once heard before:

 _"From this day forward, know that if you fall, I will lift you up. If you lack the strength to go on, I will carry you. If your path is dark, I will light your way. If you are threatened by the storm, I will be your shelter, and walk beside you all the days of my life."_

 _"How funny,"_ she thought. _"It's almost hilarious, even."_

She continued walking away from the grave, away from the body of her husband, when suddenly she heard a bell ring. She turned to look—the safety bell on the gravestone was ringing.

Finny noticed it as well.

"Look—"

Now everyone was looking at the ringing bell.

"But there's no wind or anything…"

The Undertaker grinned.

"Well, then, you know then that there's only one other reason for a bell like that to ring…"

Everyone looked at him for a while, then understanding dawned.

"Get him _out_ of there!" Bardroy shouted and suddenly they were all on the ground, clawing at it, bringing up the coffin again, opening it…

" _Ahhh_ ," Sebastian sighed, sitting up. "I'm finally out of there; it was getting quite cramped." He looked up at the assembly with a frown—"Everyone—"—They were leaping for him—"Oh."

And they landed on him and there were tears from all and that foreign butler was screaming that it was a miracle from God and the servants were hugging him and drenching him with their tears and the Undertaker was commenting that in all of his years as a funeral worker he had never actually seen one of the bells ring and Eleanora was just standing there.

Eventually everyone had calmed down enough for Sebastian to actually get out of the coffin.

"Ugh, I'm covered in tears and nasal secretions," he groaned and the Earl of Phantomhive offered him his handkerchief to get him cleaned up.

Misery had gone; now joy reigned rampant and didn't seem to want to ebb away. They were all again heading back for Phantomhive, but this time for a celebration. There was talk of wine and good food and everyone was smiling and so, so happy.

Sebastian dropped back to walk with his wife, who was striding demurely, watching the scenery go by.

"Hello," he said. "Long time no see."

"Indeed," she said calmly, like she was used to seeing butlers pop back up from the grave after they had just been buried.

"Did you miss me?" he asked.

"I didn't have enough time to," she said.

"A pity," he said. "Perhaps I should have been dead for longer."

"And maybe you should have _remained_ dead," she told him, but as they continued walking, she slung his arm through his.


	44. Chapter 44

Sebastian was at the Undertaker's, toasting his success. It wasn't every day that a butler could live through an attempted murder, single-handedly stop a murderer, frame an innocent man, get away with it, and come out scot-free with not even the slightest trace of suspicion on his good character. Plus his wife seemed to tolerate him more, which was definitely an added bonus. She was much more smiley now. It was quite the improvement.

He was rather tempted to get roaring drunk, and was about halfway to obtaining this goal when the Undertaker said something that made him reconsider things.

"Good job," he said, smiling at him. "Nice work—in _all_ things."

"Yes, thank you; it _was_ nice work, wasn't it?"

"And nobody suspects you?"

"Not at all. Everything is just perfect."

"And it's so nice about Miss Black and all."

"Right."

"She wasn't upset?"

"Not at all."

"She's so understanding!"

"Yes, it's hard to find a nice lady…"

"Especially a _human_ one."

"Naturally. Pardon the expression, but I do believe I've 'hit the jackpot' with this one." The wine was making him a bit more agreeable than usual; he smiled upon thinking of his wife.

"She's definitely a winner."

"Far better than that."

"And she _really_ wasn't upset?"

"Well, she was a bit odd about it at first, but she calmed down quickly."

"Another woman's reaction might have been a bit stronger."

"She can be pretty collected if need be."

"I mean, I know that _I_ would be pretty upset if I learned that I was married to a demon!"

Sebastian paused from pouring himself another glass.

"…Say that again?"

"I said that I would be upset if I knew that I was married to a demon."

"Oh. Is _that_ what we were talking about?"

"Naturally. What did you think?"

"I thought that we were discussing her reaction upon realizing that I was alive after appearing to be dead."

The Undertaker looked at him.

"…You mean you haven't told her yet?"

Sebastian finished pouring out his glass.

"…No."

"Are you going to?"

"…Yes."

"When?"

"…Soon?"

"I don't like all these hesitations," the Undertaker said sternly. "The girl deserves to know."

"But if I tell her, maybe she won't be as affable to me." He stared up at the ceiling. "You know how long it took us to get this far? Before she wouldn't even look at me; she spoke to me as if I was the worst evil this world has ever known. Now she smiles at me every other day or so. This is _vast_ improvement, and now you want to get rid of it all?"

"The best relationships are founded on honesty."

"That's cute. Where did you get that from? My father?"

"No, his proverbs mostly revolve around food and sex."

"Too true," Sebastian said and drank his wine, thankful that the topic had been changed. But the Undertaker just came back to it.

"Now, about Eleanora…"

"What _about_ Eleanora?"

"When are you going to tell her?"

"Why do I have to tell her? She's happy without knowing."

"But eventually she's going to find out."

Sebastian scoffed.

"Sure she will. Just like all the other humans who have met me."

"I'm serious. She's a clever thing; either she's going to figure it out herself or someone is going to tell her. And believe me, she'll be a _lot_ more upset if she learns from someone else than from you."

"Undertaker, the _likelihood_ of _any_ of that actually happening…"

"But it _could_ happen."

"The fact that it _could_ happen doesn't mean that it _will_."

"Need I remind you," the Undertaker said icily, "that it takes six months to plan a wedding?"

Sebastian paused again and then stuck the tip of his little finger into his mouth.

"How long have you been married? Five months at least."

"Seven this coming month," Sebastian murmured.

"Precisely. Unless you keep on making excuses— _good_ excuses—then by the end of this month she's going to know. And by that time, it'll be too late for you to save yourself, and hell hath no fury like a woman who doesn't know something which she has then just learned."

Sebastian rose up and began pacing the room.

"Undertaker," he said, "what am I going to _do_?"

"You're going to go home and you're going to tell her," the Undertaker said. "Here, I'll give you a bottle for the road, just so that you can keep your courage up…"

"But I can't just _tell_ her! This isn't like saying you're out of sugar! You can't just go up to your wife and say, 'oh by the way honey, I'm a demon.' Can't you imagine what she'll _do_ to me?"

"No," the Undertaker said and started giggling.

"What's so funny?" Sebastian said coldly.

"Nothing," he said and continued laughing into his wine glass. "Do you really call her 'honey?'"

"Nobody can call Eleanora 'honey' and live."

"Because I think that that would be rather cute."

"We are _not_ here to discuss if Eleanora and I are a cute couple or not! What _am_ I going to _do_? You're right; it takes six months to plan a wedding and we're already into our seventh month…" His pacing grew faster as he continued chewing on his little finger.

"Just go home and tell her. That's the best advice I can give you."

Sebastian gave him a sad, puppy look.

"'Just tell her?'"

"Just tell her."

"There's no other option?"

"None."

"Really?"

"You have no choice, Sebastian."

"Fine, I'll tell her," he sighed and brought out his watch. "I shall tell her a year from today."

"What was that?"

"I said that I'll tell her a year from today."

"All I'm hearing is, 'I'll tell her mumble mumble today,'" the Undertaker said, "and I've been around the unholy long enough to know that they are masters of loopholes. So you'll go home and tell her today."

"Next month."

"Tomorrow."

"Next week."

"A week from today."

"If I must," Sebastian sighed and they shook hands.

"Leaving already?" the Undertaker said. "Have another drink before you go?"

"I've lost the stomach for it," Sebastian said and left.


	45. Chapter 45

Grell Sutcliffe approached Eleanora several days after the butler's failed funeral. Eleanora wasn't really looking forward to talking with Grell; she had never been particularly genial to her; but sometimes it just couldn't be avoided.

"Hello Grell," Eleanora said. "How are you today?"

"Just fine," Grell said in that cold, stiff manner she always had with Eleanora. "Have you seen Bassy anywhere?"

"Who?"

"Sebastian."

"Who?"

"Sebastian Michaelis!"

"Oh, _him_. No, I haven't. I think he had to run out to go shopping or something."

"Oh, well, maybe it's better this way," Grell said. "The next time you see him, could you please give him a message?"

"What kind of message?"

"Well, it's fairly long; maybe I should write it down…" Grell fumbled around for a pen and a piece of paper. "Now, let's see…It goes something along the lines of…Meet him at the…Or was it someplace else? Well, it was at six-thirty…or maybe seven AM?"

"Maybe there's someone else who could give me the message?" Eleanora said impatiently. "Or maybe you could write a letter to Mr. Michaelis or something?"

"No, I can't remember it," Grell sighed, "and the people who have the message aren't staying here very long; in fact, they're leaving tomorrow…" She gave Eleanora a look. "Why don't you meet them in person?" she finally said. "They'll give you all the information and it won't take more than half an hour."

"We-e-ell…"

"It's _reeeeaaally_ important, Lady."

"Why can't you wait for Mr. Michaelis to return? After all, it's for _him_ …"

"Because who knows when he'll be returning and my coworkers are big into not working overtime and all that and they're leaving tomorrow and can't we just _go_?"

" _Fiiine_ ," Eleanora sighed. "It'll really only take half an hour?"

"Promise! Let's go!"

Eleanora got permission from the young Master and then followed Grell outside, where a huge red car was waiting.

"Nice, isn't it?" Grell said, smiling toothily at it. "You can't _imagine_ how hard it was to persuade Will to get it for me…"

"I've never ridden in a car before," Eleanora said excitedly. "Does it go fast? _Really_ fast?"

"It goes fast," Grell said, hopping into the driver's seat. "Now let's go before they lose patience with us! They said that they'll be meeting us at some café in London…"

Eleanora jumped into the passenger's seat and the car took off. It was great. Eleanora decided right then and there that she was going to ask for a car for Christmas—or her birthday—or something.

True to Grell's word, her coworkers were waiting for them in a café: two men. The first one was very impatient, irritably tapping the table, with brown hair neatly slicked back from his face. The second one was some younger hooligan, with blonde-and-brown hair who looked familiar…

"I know you," Eleanora said. "You're that nut who shot the butler in the East End that one time."

The young man giggled and shot a nervous look at the brown-haired man, who glared at him and stood up.

"You are Mrs. Michaelis, I presume?" he said in a prim voice as they shook hands. "I never imagined someone of _his_ kind getting married, but then again, they'll do anything for a soul…"

Eleanora forced a laugh and glanced at Grell, who looked a bit awkward herself.

"I see that you've met Ronald Knox," the man continued, looking at the hoodlum, "and I am William T. Spears. You might call me Grell's boss."

"A pleasure," Eleanora said and sat down across from Will. "So why did you want to see me?"

"We have a message that we would like you to convey to your husband," Will said. "It pertains to these recent murders of the noble class."

"Oh. That's still going on? I thought it had stopped…"

"The flow of the murders has stemmed with the rescue of Wallace W. Wallace, but they have returned in full force. I can't believe that I'm saying this, but," Will sighed, "we are in need of your… _husband's_ assistance."

"Why? What can he do?"

"He can tell us why the human souls are missing and how they have been extracted, perhaps even tell us who has taken them. It would be a colossal help."

"And…how would he know all those things about souls?"

Will scoffed and waved his hand.

"He's a demon. Demons know everything there is to know about souls. Now, will you please give him this letter for us?"

Eleanora wordlessly took the letter and then suddenly forced a laugh.

"Him? The _butler_? A _demon_? Surely you're joking. There's no such thing."

"I am not one for 'jokes,'" Will said and then looked up at her. "Oh. I see that he hasn't told you yet. Well, I can't say that I'm surprised. _His_ kind are notorious for failing to tell the complete truth…"

"He's not a demon," Eleanora insisted. "Demons don't exist."

"You mean you _really_ haven't discovered it for yourself?" Will asked, giving her a look with his steely green eyes. "Then think about it for a time, and I daresay that you will kick yourself for not realizing it sooner. But until then, I bid you good evening. Come Grell, Ronald. We're going. Pleasure meeting you, Mrs. Michaelis."

"It's Miss Black, actually," Eleanora murmured, but by then the three had gone. She almost would have thought that they had never been there to begin with, but then again, she was still holding the letter. _Sebastian Michaelis_ had been written on it in stiffly neat black handwriting.

She slowly rose up from her seat and began walking home, trying to think. However, her mind was in that mood where it didn't particularly want to focus on anything. Once she arrived at Phantomhive, she realized that she hadn't figured anything out.

She dropped the letter on the kitchen table, where the butler was sure to find it. It was already pretty late; she went up to her room and collapsed on the bed.

 _"Demon,"_ she thought. _"That man said that my husband was a demon. But that's not true. It can't possibly be true. Demons don't exist. They're just some legend to keep little kids from being naughty, like unicorns. They don't exist. They can't possibly. He was just poking fun."_

Somehow her mind wasn't convinced.

 _"I'll sleep on it,"_ she decided, _"and when I'll wake up, I'll realize that it couldn't be true."_


	46. Chapter 46

Eleanora woke up, cold with fear and dripping with sweat. It was painfully obvious to her now.

Of _course_ he was a demon! What else could he be? It all made sense—how he was able to find her with his eyes closed when the Earl needed help for that first ball…How he was able to cut off parts of her arm and then reattach them…How he could remove her lady parts and then put them back…How he could survive being shot in the East End…The way he took down that would-be robber…Those contracts in his desk drawer…How he had somehow managed to be alive even after being murdered…It all made sense. It was all coming together. He was a demon.

Eleanora shuddered and wrapped her arms around herself. As she did so, she touched her left forearm and remembered the pentagram symbol. She immediately leapt out of bed and yanked her nightgown off and stood in front of the mirror, staring at it.

Weren't pentagrams the sign of the Devil? Of course they were. And she had signed a contract with a demon. She groaned and almost fainted. This mark on her arm was a symbol of the contract. It meant that she was a demon's prey…It meant that he was going to eat her soul and condemn her to hell for all eternity.

Then she really fainted.

She woke up a few minutes later with someone knocking on the door.

"Miss Black," the butler—the _demon_ —called out, "are you alright? We heard a thumping noise downstairs, as if something had fallen…"

Eleanora was too scared to answer; the demon knocked again.

"Miss Black? Are you in there?"

He tried the doorknob and then Eleanora snapped back into reality.

 _"I'm here I'm fine everything is just fine just don't come and don't open the door_!" She leapt up and hurled her body against the door, breathing hard.

"Certainly," the butler sounded a bit confused, but masked it fairly well. "If you're sure that you're alright, I'll see you downstairs."

She didn't relax until she heard his footsteps fade away. Then she got back to the issue of the contract.

Maybe she could cut it out? Maybe that would help? Maybe then it would just…disappear? Of course, she wouldn't try to chop off her whole arm; just kind of cut the skin away…

She tried. It was horrible and painful and she didn't want to look at the final result, but eventually the skin that had the demon's contract on it was tossed into the embers of the fire and then burned and she quickly bandaged up her arm and put her long white gloves on and began to leave the room…

 _Shit_. Demons were lustful. Isn't that what all the religious people said? Wasn't there a certain type of demon who made love to women while they were asleep? Eleanora stared at her bed. Did he…Maybe…Did _he_ do that to _her_? When she was asleep and defenseless?

She couldn't think about that now; she had bigger problems. She stared down at her maid's outfit. Before, she didn't think that it looked particularly special; in fact, she thought it was really rather ugly and baggy. Now she realized just how tempting it was.

It showed off her curves and a bit of her chest; her ankles were slightly visible. She didn't know what could set a demon off into a lascivious frenzy, but maybe just the slightest amount of bare skin was enough. She looked at herself in the mirror. Just how much skin had she shown off in the past couple of months? Maybe the demon was already frothing at the mouth, just thinking about soiling her body with his wicked hands…

She furiously dug through her clothes, looking for something— _anything_ —that resembled a sack more than actual clothing. She found a maid outfit that was several sizes too small and thought that that might work, when she remembered that tightness meant showing off more things. The outfit that she was wearing was one of the biggest things she had.

She looked around her room for another excuse to stay in there for longer and couldn't find anything. She touched her hurt arm for luck, took a deep breath, and then went downstairs to face the monster in the kitchen.


	47. Chapter 47

Sebastian looked up upon hearing footsteps. Eleanora was entering the kitchen, looking tired and nervous.

"Hm? Oh, you're here. I thought that you were still in your room."

In fact, he was _sure_ that she was still in her room; he could still faintly sense her presence up there…But clearly she wasn't up there as she was now down here. He turned away from her and tapped at a recipe in a cookbook.

"The young Lord requested this today; please assist me in making it."

Eleanora wordlessly began. Sebastian wondered if she was feeling well. Her skin was even paler and thinner than normal and her eyes had dark circles underneath them. Maybe she had a nightmare. She didn't wish him good morning as soon as she entered, the way that she normally did. Perhaps it slipped her mind. Well, no matter. It wasn't important.

He got out the pepper and accidentally sent a cloud of it up into the air, which he inhaled and then he sneezed.

"Bless—" Eleanora began automatically, then stopped and looked away. Sebastian turned to look at her; her lower lip seemed to be trembling.

"Miss Black?" he asked. "Are you alright?"

"F-Fine," she choked out. She raised an arm up and wiped her eyes but Sebastian wasn't focused on that.

"Miss Black, you're bleeding."

"Hm? Oh, no I'm not; I'm fine, really…"

"No, you're bleeding; let me look at it…" He stretched out and gently took her left arm and then she screamed and wrenched herself away from him, falling to the floor.

"Miss Black—" He moved to help her up but she flinched as he approached and he stopped. "Miss Black…"

"Don't…" she panted, staring up at him with wide, fearful eyes, "don't touch me…"

"Why, certainly, if you don't want me to, but Miss Black…"

Then the other servants entered and Eleanora rose up and continued with the breakfast preparations, as if nothing at all had happened.

But Sebastian kept on sneaking looks at her. There was a frightened, hunted look in her eyes and he wanted to know why.


	48. Chapter 48

Ciel had also noticed that there was something wrong with Eleanora. She wasn't her usual sassy self. When he dropped a pen and asked her to pick it up, she did so wordlessly, without asking if he had just lost his arms recently. He also noticed the frightened look on her face and the way that she always seemed to be jumping at everything.

Then Sebastian entered with the tea.

"Oh! Eleanora. I didn't know that you were here." He frowned at her. He hadn't known where she was all day. At first, he could have sworn that she was in her room, but then she arrived in the kitchen and the feeling faded. And then he couldn't tell where she was. It was very disorienting.

And then her arm started bleeding again and she quickly tugged down her sleeve to try to hide it. Sebastian made a mental note to ask her about it again, when everyone else would have gone to sleep. Maybe she cut herself somehow. He would have to tell her to be careful; her upper left arm was where the contract was, and if the contract was somehow removed, he wouldn't be able to find her…

His eyes widened and he almost spilled the young Master's tea.

 _"She didn't…"_

Eleanora had blended into the shadows and was sticking to the wall, as if desperate to go unnoticed by him. But her arm really _was_ bleeding, he could smell it; but why would she want to remove the sign of the contract? He would _definitely_ ask her about it later.

He was so upset and confused that he looked at her as she passed; she seemed to wither under his gaze.

 _"Maybe she's not feeling well,"_ he thought as he left the room, remembering that one time when she had fainted. _"Overwork, probably. Maybe she's delusional. I'll allow her to go to bed early tonight, if she's really ill."_

Eleanora waited until the demon was gone before leaving the safety of the wall. She clutched her left arm; it still hurt.

Meanwhile the young Master was studying her.

"I don't mean to be rude," he said, "but what was that all about?"

"What was what about, my Lord?" Eleanora said, trying to be innocent, which was difficult, considering that her voice was shaking. He had _looked at her_. He was probably thinking of ways to soil her—or kill her. She wasn't sure which was worse.

"Why did you avoid Sebastian like that?"

She forced a laugh.

"Don't I always try to avoid him?"

"Well, yes, but never like _that_." Ciel gazed at her suspiciously. "You two aren't fighting…are you?"

"N-No, sir…"

"Because Madam Red told me that she wants to see you two fighting, so if you are, I have to call her now."

"My Lord, we aren't fighting."

"Alright, if that's the way you want it," Ciel said, but still kept on looking at her.

Eleanora shuffled nervously and then finally dared to ask a question:

"My Lord, is the butler—I mean, is he really—You know—A…demon?"

"Oh, is that what this argument is about?" Ciel went back to his papers. "Yes, he's a demon. I'll call the Undertaker; he'll be glad that he told you; he's been on my back telling me to tell him to tell you; I'm glad it's over with."

Eleanora looked even sicker, if that was possible.

"So…he really is a demon?"

"Naturally."

"What is a demon doing here?"

"We have a contract."

Now she just looked horrified.

" _You_ have a contract with a _demon_? _Why_?"

Ciel sighed and looked up at her.

"It's a long story. Would you like me to tell you now?"

Eleanora hesitated, then nodded.

"Alright," Ciel said, pushing aside his work. "I hope that you're comfortable standing, because this might take a while."


	49. Chapter 49

Sebastian was waiting for Eleanora in the evening, after all of the servants and the young Master had retired. She was slogging down the stairs, looking mostly dead than alive. Maybe she truly was ill. Perhaps she had eaten something she shouldn't have. That fish he served for dinner _did_ look a bit suspicious, but he figured it would be worth serving just to see the young Master vomit. He adored that look of suffering on such a little brat…

But never mind that; he had to talk to Eleanora. He took a step forward as she entered, but she didn't even look at him.

"I'm tired," she mumbled, heading for the servants' upstairs. "I'm going to bed. Goodnight."

"Miss Black, please wait; I must speak to you," Sebastian said after getting over his initial surprise. They normally prepared for the next day together. They had a cup of tea. They would talk. Occasionally they would laugh. It wasn't like her to blow him off like this. In fact, she hadn't been behaving like herself throughout the whole day.

Eleanora shuddered at the foot of the stairs. She thought that she could get away with it. But of course she couldn't have; she was just a stupid human; she was no match for a demon's strength and intellect…

She hesitantly entered the kitchen, staying by the door that would lead to the upstairs, ready to run if necessary. But the demon didn't look in a violent or lustful mood. He just looked confused—confused and offended. Had she offended him? Oh god, she was definitely going to die…

Eleanora's legs trembled; her eyes rolled back in her head and she almost collapsed; she looked as if she had just resisted a faint. Sebastian wondered if he should call a doctor.

"Miss Black," he said, "I couldn't help but notice that you've been acting a bit strangely today. Are you feeling alright?"

"F-Fine," she squeaked.

He frowned at her. Ohhh, she was going to die the worst death anyone could ever have…

"Really? Are you sure? Because—pardon my saying so—you don't look well at all."

He began approaching her, still frowning. The tortures at the church would be nothing compared to the pain that he was going to inflict on her right now…

"You look a bit feverish. Perhaps you had better lie down?"

He gently touched her forehead to feel her temperature. Eleanora made a very un-Eleanora-like whimper; her eyes rolled back; and she fainted dead into his arms.


	50. Chapter 50

The Undertaker arrived about half-an-hour later. He had arrived as fast as he could and so looked fairly disheveled.

"What is it? What's going on? What happened?"

Eleanora was lying on Sebastian's bed, panting and covered in sweat. Sebastian had taken her to his room, thinking that maybe she would recover from her faint quicker in more comfortable circumstances, but she had only gotten worse. Her temperature had increased; she seemed to be in a delirium.

"I don't know," Sebastian said, putting a cold cloth on her forehead. "She just…fainted."

"When? Just now? What happened?"

"I don't know," he repeated. "We were just talking, perfectly normally, and then she fainted."

"Well did you _do_ anything?"

"Why is it that when something happens to a woman, the man is immediately blamed?" Sebastian scowled up at him. "I was inquiring about her health and then I touched her forehead and then she fainted. That's it."

"'Her health?' Has she not been feeling well?"

"She hadn't been _looking_ well; I was asking her if she was alright."

"And she wasn't?"

"Obviously," Sebastian said and pushed a strand of her hair away from her face. Eleanora began moaning.

 _"No…"_

"'No?' What is she saying? Did she just say 'no?'" the Undertaker and Sebastian leaned in.

 _"No…"_ she whimpered. _"No…I don't…want to…"_

"What does that mean?" the Undertaker whispered; Sebastian shushed him.

 _"I don't want…don't make me…please…please…I'm sorry…"_

It seemed that she was having multiple dreams, dreams which she was not enjoying. Sebastian gently began shaking her shoulder.

"Miss Black, wake up. Miss Black, you're dreaming. Wake up; everything's fine, you're perfectly safe here…"

 _"No…I'm sorry…Please don't hurt me…Please…Someone…Save me…Anyone…Please…No…"_ She started writhing around in the bed; Sebastian pressed her back.

"Miss Black, wake up! Miss Black, you're dreaming. Wake up!"

 _"Demon…"_ she groaned. _"The demon is coming…"_

"Demon? What demon?" Sebastian shook her a bit more furiously. "Miss Black, what demon? Are you in trouble? Miss Black!"

 _"The demon…"_ she whispered. _"He's coming for me…He's going to kill me…The demon…My husband…Sebastian Michaelis…He's a demon…Please…Save me…Someone…Anyone…Save me from…my demon husband…"_

Sebastian stared at her and then collapsed back into his seat.

The Undertaker gave him a look.

"You…did tell her…right?"


	51. Chapter 51

Eleanora woke up in a cold sweat and tried to sit up when she almost vomited. There was a ghastly taste in her mouth and her stomach was writhing around, as if she had been force-fed something horrible.

She was in the butler's—the demon's—room. She was lying on the bed, but it didn't look as if there was anyone else around. She examined herself; her left arm had been properly bandaged but she didn't look as if she had been assaulted. There were three things on the bedside table: a half-filled bottle of medicine (which explained the taste in her mouth), a bowl filled with cold water where rags were soaking, and a covered plate, which contained soup.

The rag on Eleanora's forehead fell off and she put it back in the water bowl. Then she slowly rose up, put her shoes back on, and then quietly left the room. Where would she go? She didn't know. Probably back to her room. But what would she do about the demon? She couldn't fight him. She couldn't beat him at anything. The best she could hope to do was avoid him. But how long would that last? She couldn't avoid him forever. She worked with him—hell, she was _married_ to him! But then what was she going to do? She needed an expert on demons—a _real_ expert. And then she remembered where to find one.

To get outside she would have to pass the kitchen. The demon and the Undertaker were playing some kind of game in there—the oddest game she had ever seen. It was something like chess—and something like checkers—and something like poker. Eleanora pressed against the wall, as close to the shadows as possible, and tried inching her way across, listening to their conversation.

"You should have told her earlier," the Undertaker said.

"I didn't know that she would find out so quickly," Sebastian said.

"You should have assumed the worst."

"If everyone assumed the worst, nothing would ever get done."

Silence. Eleanora stopped and held her breath, waiting for them to continue talking so that she could use their voices to muffle her footsteps.

"She cut the contract out," Sebastian said quietly. "Why did she do that?"

"Who knows?" the Undertaker sighed. "A man can never tell what a woman is thinking."

Sebastian scoffed.

Eleanora didn't hear what he answered, because by that time she had passed the kitchen and was able to run outside.


	52. Chapter 52

Father Brown was just about to close up the church. It was late and nobody would come until morning, allowing him time to get some much-needed sleep. He had closed and locked the doors and was just about to go home when someone approached him—someone in a long black cloak with a hood that hid their face.

"F-Father?"

Father Brown jumped and whirled around, staring at the hooded figure in horror. Who was it? How did they know who he was? Perhaps it was Death, coming to take his soul. Or perhaps…Perhaps it was a memory from that one time that he had sinned…

"Father, please, I need your help," the figure said and pulled off their hood, revealing a woman with frightened blue eyes. Brown relaxed.

"Of course, my child; but couldn't it wait until the morning? The church is closed, you know…"

"I'm sorry; it can't wait. It's really important."

She must have seen that he didn't believe her because she leaned in really close and whispered,

"It's about a demon."

A minute later, they were sitting in the church, drinking tea. Father Brown examined the woman as they sat. She didn't _look_ much like she would be a demon's prey. Demons always went after young, beautiful women; Brown knew that; and while this woman had very lovely blue eyes, the harshness of the rest of her face severely diminished the effect.

"Well, my child," Father Brown sighed after finishing his tea, "what is it? What about a demon?"

The woman paused for a moment, staring down at her cup.

"I have a friend," she said in a low, scared voice, "and this friend has suddenly discovered that—through no fault of her own—she's married to a—a demon, Father."

Father Brown shot up several feet in the air.

" _Married_ to a _demon_? But that's—But that's _horrible_! Why did she do that?"

"She had no choice. She only learned that he was a demon recently. She doesn't know what to do, Father," the woman stared up at him with pleading eyes. "Please help her."

"Well, what is this demon doing? Is he…hurting her? Abusing her in any way? If that's so, then perhaps she could escape it by calling the police…"

"N-No, the demon has only really hurt her once and that was a long time ago. It hasn't happened since. Ever since then, the demon has been very polite to her…almost kind…"

"My child," Father Brown said, grabbing her hands, "let me make this _very_ clear to you so that you could make this _very_ clear to your friend: _demons are not kind_. They haven't the least scrap of kindness within them. They are horrible and evil and all they care about is devouring pure souls and dragging the innocent down to Hell. And it's even worse for women—demons delight in taking a woman's purity, usually by force, and they won't show mercy or compassion and—above all else— _they never fall in love_. My child, get your friend out of this relationship as quickly as possible! Don't hesitate, don't assume that just because the demon is kind _now_ it will _always_ be kind. It's just part of his trickery. It's all part of his act."

The woman had looked as if she was going to burst into tears, but she rose up with a nod and quietly thanked Father Brown. She turned to leave, then stopped and turned back.

"By the way, Father, do you know a pastor? A pastor Jeremy Rathbone?"

"Pastor Jeremy Rathbone?" Father Brown repeated. "No, never heard of him. And I know _all_ the priests around here.

The woman nodded again.

"That's what I thought."

Then she quickly left the church, pulling her hood back up over her head, as if frightened that someone would see her.


	53. Chapter 53

The letter that the Reapers had sent to Sebastian was an invitation, telling him to go to a certain little town where they had temporarily rented a building. There, he would examine the corpses of the murdered nobles and tell the Reapers everything he could, particularly pertaining to the missing souls. Sebastian hadn't wanted to go, but Grell said that Will was paying for everything, including food and board, and the young Master demanded that he go to find out as much as he could for Phantomhive's purposes. So Sebastian packed a suitcase and then they all went to the train station to see him off—the young Master, the Undertaker, and Eleanora.

The Undertaker gave him instructions as they were heading for the train station: don't touch the Reaper's glasses; always be polite, especially to Will; don't make jokes about eating souls; try to act as less demonic as possible; don't touch the Reaper's glasses; will he remember not to touch the Reaper's glasses?

When he was done, the young Master took over and gave Sebastian some _more_ instructions: find out everything he could about the murders; deduce if there's a correlation between the murdered people; try to find a pattern in the victims; etc; etc; etc; Sebastian was already bored and he hadn't even boarded the train yet.

They found the right train and then Sebastian turned to Eleanora to give her instructions regarding the manor: take care of things; look after the young Master; make sure the servants don't burn the house down while I'm gone.

"You'll only be gone for a week, you know," Ciel said as Sebastian continued rattling off rules.

"A lot can happen in a week, my Lord," Sebastian said, giving the young Master a look.

The train whistled; it was time to be off. Grell was already waiting for him in the car. Sebastian bowed to the young Master, shook hands with the Undertaker, and extended his hand towards Eleanora.

"Goodbye, Miss Black," he said softly. "Be careful."

Eleanora hesitantly extended her hand towards his, thought about her safety, and dropped her hand to her side, refusing to look at the butler.

Sebastian picked up his suitcase and boarded the train. It started to leave and he watched the three fade off into the distance—the young Master looking bored, the Undertaker waving, Eleanora not even looking at the train.

He sighed and settled back down into his seat. Grell took this chance to cozy up next to him.

"Sooo Bassy," he cooed, slinging his arm through Sebastian's, "here we are, all alone on a train, heading for the unknown…rather _frightening_ , isn't it?"

 _"Lord save me,"_ Sebastian thought and prepared himself for three hours of Grell-inspired agony.

The train left and Ciel turned to go home.

"Undertaker, are you coming back with us?"

"Oh, no; I have some business in town to take care of; you two kids go on without me," the Undertaker cackled. Ciel shrugged and began walking away, with Eleanora following behind him. "Wait, Miss Black!"

They turned back again; the Undertaker strode up and deposited a package into Eleanora's hands.

"Just something I bought for you," he winked. "I mean, now that you know and all. Who knows? You might find it useful. After all, it takes six months to plan a wedding." The Undertaker walked away, still giggling to himself like a madman.

"What is it? What did he give you?" Ciel asked, trying to look at it. Eleanora pulled the string and paper off it.

"It's a book."

"A book? What kind of book? What's it about?"

" _Marriage to Demons: a human woman's guide."_ She frowned as she read the title and began flipping through the book. "It's all about demons."

"Oh, I have something like that," Ciel said. "Unholy books are great; they tell you everything you need to know; all you really have to do is ask."

So saying, they left the train station and stopped by in town to do some shopping. By the time they arrived back at Phantomhive, it was already rather late.

"I wonder how Sebastian's doing?"


	54. Chapter 54

Sebastian was having a horrible time.

William T. Spears had indeed paid for a room, but he only paid for _one_ room, with only _one_ bed—which meant that he and Grell would have to share it.

Sebastian was sitting at the desk in the room, reading, when Grell stepped out of the bathroom, wearing the sexiest lady's negligee that would fit him. Few things terrify a demon, but when Grell stepped out, grinning and winking, Sebastian very quickly remembered what true fear was.

But he was a demon, and if there's one thing demons are good at, it's fighting back their urges. Sebastian easily held back the urge to run to London and nail boards over every door and window and instead rose up.

Grell curled up on one side of the bed, batting his false eyelashes. Sebastian shuddered and lay down on the other side, as far away as he could without falling off.

There was silence for a time, then Grell scooted closer to Sebastian.

"It's cold tonight, isn't it?" he whispered.

"Use a blanket," Sebastian said.

Grell giggled and moved closer.

"Bassy," he whispered, "aren't you _tempted_?"

"If you snore I'm kicking you."

"I mean, a handsome man like you…a pretty girl like me…"

"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder."

"We're all alone…in the same room…in the same bed…"

"I'm too tired to do anything strenuous."

"Bassy!" Grell said and leapt on him.

Things happened rather quickly after that. Sebastian grabbed a pillow and was able to knock Grell out of midair with it. Then he rolled out of bed and threw a sheet over him, which gave him just enough time to dart for the bathroom and slam the door closed and lock it.

There was more silence, and then a knock on the door.

"Bassy?" Grell cooed.

Sebastian pressed his back against the door, already plotting an escape route.

"Bassy, I'm sorry. Won't you please come out?"

"No."

"I won't do it again."

He scoffed.

Eventually the knocking died away, but he remained vigilant. About three hours later, there was another knock on the door.

"Bassy, please open the door," Grell whined.

"No."

"But I have to use the _necessary_!"

"There's a perfectly fine window in there."

"But I can't go like _that_! That wouldn't be _ladylike_."

"Perish the thought that you should do anything unladylike," Sebastian mumbled.

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

Another hour passed and again Grell knocked.

"Bassy, _please_ , I've really got to _go_ …"

"Hold it until morning."

"But I'm going to _explode_!"

"All the better then."

"You're so _mean_!"

"You actually sound surprised."

Another hour, another knock.

"Bassy, this is taking sadism to a whole other level. _Please_ open the door."

"No."

"But why _not_?"

"Because I don't trust you."

"I bet that if I was _Eleanora_ you would open the door."

"Grell, if you were my own mother I still wouldn't open the door."

"But…but… _please_!"

"No."

Sebastian remained pressed against the door until he saw the sun come out. Then he left the bathroom long enough to grab a change of clothes, and once he was properly dressed, he resumed his seat at the room desk and continued reading until Grell was ready to show him where the Reapers were.


	55. Chapter 55

The butler had been gone for several days, now. He would be returning by the end of the week. Nothing much had happened in his absence; the young Master had gotten ill and was still attempting to recover. Eleanora was sitting in her room, staring moodily at her left arm. It had started to heal and the symbol of the contract was coming back. She wondered if she could ever somehow manage to get it off. Probably not.

She sighed and wrapped her arms around her head. She was not looking forward to seeing the demon again. She still couldn't forget what the priest had told her—that demons were horrible, unfeeling monsters who sullied young women for fun…Naturally she could assume all that on her own, but just hearing it from a real expert made it worse.

Her eye fell on the big black book that the Undertaker had given her. She hadn't even opened it yet. Maybe it could help her—give her some information on how to assuage a lustful demon or something; maybe teach her how to properly beg for mercy when the demon would come and kill her…which it would undoubtedly try to do at some point.

She picked up the book and opened it to a random page. It was blank. She flipped to another page—blank as well.

 _"What the hell?"_ she thought, turning to the very first page. _"Who gives someone a perfectly blank book?"_

But she vaguely recalled seeing printed pages when she flipped through it the first time. Where did it all go?

The first page had answers:

 **How to use** (it said) **: This volume contains everything a recently-married human woman might need or want to know about demons. Say out loud what you want to know to the book, or whisper it into its spine. The book can also read questions, but usually too many thoughts go through a person's mind for the book to clearly distinguish them. It's safer to ask the question out loud. This book contains information only about demons and will not answer any questions that might not in any way relate to them.**

 _"Is this a joke?"_ Eleanora thought. _"How can a book possibly read minds?"_

She thought about demons—what she knew about them, what she feared about them, what question she should ask the book and turned the page.

She was sure that it was blank, but now it had something written on it: **Demonical Consent**.

 _"I guess that that was what was mostly on my mind,"_ she thought and read the page:

 **Demons, like all of the unholy, consider intimacy to be one of the purest ways to show affection for another person. Therefore, it is a very important, sacred act that both members need to agree to beforehand in order to make the experience as wonderful and as loving as it is considered to be. Forcing intimacy is incredibly taboo and is one of the very few approved reasons for divorce. Demons who force intimacy on another person—no matter the relation—are usually ostracized, if not killed.**

 _"I can't believe I'm believing an unholy book,"_ Eleanora thought, but as much as she hated to admit it, she felt comforted. She turned the page, thinking that maybe it would give her some more insight, but it was blank. Maybe she had too many questions for the book to read her thoughts.

The book mentioned divorce. Maybe it wasn't too late. Maybe she could still divorce the demon!

"D-Divorce," she whispered to the book and turned the page. Sure enough, the page's content was all about breaking a marriage.

 **Divorce is considered shameful in all the unholy races, but probably none more so than the demon. Marriage is a contractual arrangement, and the demons hate nothing more than breaking a contract. Divorce is rarely pardonable, and most people who successfully have a divorce are social exiles. However, there are some scenarios where divorce is allowed:**

 **Forcing intimacy: this is never allowed.**

 **Adultery: Adultery is usually a vampiric issue, as demons consider infidelity as breaking the marriage contract, but on the off-chance that it does happen, after the preliminary tortures, a wronged spouse can pursue divorce.**

 _"Preliminary tortures? These unholies don't screw around, do they?"_

 **Before the appointed Matri Verum date: occasionally, a lovesick contracted master will order their demon to marry them. The demon, naturally, has no choice but to agree. However, the marriage is not considered absolutely legal until the Matri Verum, so divorce is still possible and far easier to accomplish. Some demons have been married more than once to humans, but have easily gotten out of it because they have divorced their spouses before the Matri Verum.**

 _"What the hell's the Matri Verum?"_ Eleanora thought. _"Could I use it as an excuse to get out of this sham?"_ She was just about to ask the book when she heard the servants downstairs screaming for her; Madam Red had called a doctor for Ciel and he had just arrived.


	56. Chapter 56

The Reapers had set up their base in an abandoned warehouse. It had taken a while for Will to get permission from all of them to have a demon enter their midst; even though the corpses were soulless, an unholy around made them testy.

There were five human bodies covered by sheets; Will said that they couldn't get any more. Well, that didn't matter. Sebastian recalled the young Master's orders about trying to get any information about the murders and forced himself to pay attention to everything.

He approached the first body; two Reapers pulled the sheet back, exposing the man's torso but tactfully keeping his lower half covered. Sebastian fired up his demon eyes and looked down at the man's chest. Sure enough, he didn't have a soul.

The Reapers hadn't taken it. He could tell; the Reapers were wasteful and didn't take the whole soul; they left parts inside the body (usually the yummiest). But it wasn't demon's work either; a demon would take the whole soul and nothing else and this body was missing a few strands from his heart. Also, he could tell that the soul had been extracted from a dead body and demons always preferred their souls fresh and wriggling.

A vampire, perhaps? Some vampires could extract souls from bodies. But vampires couldn't digest souls and besides which, it was an onerous task for anything that wasn't a demon to remove a soul. Also, if it was a vampire, they would have taken the whole heart and the blood. Sebastian picked up the man's arm; he could still smell blood in his veins. So it wasn't a vampire.

He closed his eyes to see better and pressed his head against the corpse's chest, ignoring the Reapers' whispers and how he was painfully aware that they were all defensively pointing their Death Scythes at him and then realized how the souls were removed.

"It was a mechanical soul remover," Sebastian said, looking up at Will. "You know about those, I presume?"

Will nodded. The younger Reapers looked a bit confused, so he was moved to explain:

"Mechanical soul removers are handheld devices that extract souls from dead bodies. They're mostly used in times of war when souls and contracts are scarce to feed the demons."

"How big are these things?" one Reaper asked.

"Oh, about the size of a man's fist," Sebastian said, holding his up. "They only need to be slightly bigger than a soul."

"Souls are that small?"

Sebastian scowled at the Reaper, who cowered under his gaze and hid behind a larger one.

"Normally they're slightly spread around the body," he said, "but when we eat them, we concentrate them into more manageable sizes, so _yes_ , they're smaller than expected. But their goodness isn't ruined by that; oh, my no!"

His eyes rolled up in starving ecstasy; he licked his lips and a small, animal-like growl rumbled from his chest.

Will interfered before he could frighten more Reapers.

"Do you suppose a demon could have used one?"

"No, why would a demon need to use a device?"

"Fair point; what about another unholy?"

"Why would another unholy _want_ dead souls? We demons are the only ones who can digest them."

"Then a human?"

"That seems more likely," Sebastian said, thinking. "A human who has somehow learned of the existence of demons and who somehow got their hands on a MSR and who wants to shift the blame onto the demons instead of onto him."

"But doesn't that seem a bit far-fetched?" someone asked.

"No, it happens more frequently than expected," Sebastian said, rising up with a sigh. "You'd be surprised how many humans know about the existence of the unholy."

"Do a lot know about…Reapers?"

"I'm told that they do in some parts of Africa," Sebastian said. "Small, unimportant countries in darkest Eurasia. Places with lots of death."

"What about demons?"

"Demons are mostly known in the Americas because so many young idiots try conjuring them. And England, of course, due to its long and bloody history of demonic persecutions."

"What about others?"

"Well, the Russians know quite a lot about vampires because so many of them love the country. And Siths are well-known in Italy because of all the angels there. Ex-Angels are also known in Africa and darkest Eurasia. I'm sure there's more, but I'm kind of on schedule." Sebastian moved on to the next corpse, and the next, and told Will that all of their souls had been removed using an MSR.

"Undoubtedly you will be telling all this to your prey?" Will said as Sebastian was about to leave.

"Naturally. He ordered me to."

"Then I suppose that we have no choice except in working with a human?"

"You could try and go it alone," Sebastian shrugged, "but it'll be harder to explain to the police if you get caught doing something you shouldn't have."

He grinned and left and even allowed Grell to cling to his arm as they made their way back to the hotel, even though he tossed him in the garbage when he touched the butler's rear.


	57. Chapter 57

The telephone rang the day before the butler was supposed to come home. Eleanora answered it, thinking that it was a businessman of some sort, calling to say that the shipment would be delayed or get clarification on an order or maybe even the demon himself to let her know that his arrival would be changed in some way.

It was a man on the phone, a man with a strange, sing-song voice who asked to speak to the butler.

Eleanora hesitated before asking; most businessmen asked to speak with the butler because they didn't trust speaking to anyone else, and she had gotten pretty good at faking a man's voice. She held the phone back up to her face and said in the deepest, most butler-esque voice she could,

"This is Sebastian Michaelis, butler to the Earl of Phantomhive. How may I help you?"

Then the man on the other end _giggled_. There was something phenomenally disturbing in hearing that giggle. It made Eleanora want to drop the phone and run, but she remained on the line.

"Oh, there's no need to be so _formal_ ," the man said in a teasing voice. "Not with _me_ , anyway. We already know each other _far_ too well for such formalities. Or has the human world finally addled what little brains you had left?"

Eleanora remained silent, wondering where he was going with this.

"No doubt you're confused as to my last statement?" the man asked. "There's no need to say anything; I can read you like Braille, even when you're three worlds away, you cheap piece of vegan bacon."

"I'm…sorry?" she finally squeaked out. Maybe now was the time to say that the butler wasn't home.

"The _funniest_ thing happened yesterday," the man continued. "It was just downright _hilarious_ ; I wish that you could have been there to see it. Our old friend the Undertaker called and we were just chatting about this-and-that, asking when he's going to come down next, talking about fine wines; the usual; when he suddenly mentioned your _wife_."

Eleanora suddenly couldn't breathe; the man's coldly pleasant voice turned icily dangerous.

"So naturally I asked what the heaven he meant by that statement and he asked me if I didn't know and I said _heaven_ no, I don't know; what the heaven are you talking about and _he_ said that you're married. In fact, that you've been married for several months now." The man took a deep breath and said in a voice as chilling as Death, "Have you forgotten that it takes six months to plan a wedding?"

 _It takes six months to plan a wedding._ The Undertaker had said something like that too. What did it mean? She wanted to ask the man, but he suddenly seemed to lose it and began screaming into the phone.

"WHAT THE !, LARD? WHAT. THE. !? You, the blood of me—how _dare_ you blatantly _fail_ to give me this information? Why do I have to find it out from a third party? What—where you _scared_ of something? Of what? Of _me_? _Why_? You _know_ me; I wouldn't hurt a cupcake; so _why_ didn't you _tell_ me?"

"S-Sir," Eleanora said, unable to control the tremble in her voice, "I-I have to tell you something…"

But she never got a chance to say that she wasn't really Sebastian because the man's tone suddenly turned suspicious.

"Your voice—It sounds different. Almost…female. It's lost its manliness. Don't tell me…" The man gasped and then began screaming again. " _ROSE_! It's _happened_! I knew that it would happen; I always knew; they said it couldn't happen but I knew that it could and now I have proof and goddamn it and _ROSE_!" Crashing sounds and then she heard the man's voice in the distance, as if he was running away from the phone. " _ROSE_! He's been a virgin for so long he's degenerated back into a woman!"

Eleanora slammed the phone and stalked away, breathing hard. She didn't know who that man was or what he wanted but she hoped that she would never have to talk to him again.

The phone rang. She turned back to it. Was it him again? If it was, she could just hang up. She didn't necessarily have to talk to him. Besides, it could be a legitimate businessman. She hesitantly picked up the phone again.

"H-Hello?" she whispered.

It was a woman with a warm, musical voice.

"Good evening," she said. "I was wondering as to who I may be talking to?"

"Th-This is Eleanora Bla-Michaelis, of Phantomhive manor."

"I see. And…Is Mr. Michaelis there by any chance?"

"N-No…"

Then she heard the woman talking to someone else.

"See, I _told_ you that it was a girl and _not_ Sebastian; now you've gone and frightened her away."

Then she heard the man in the distance, speaking a bit sulkily,

"I know women and I know men and let me tell you, if that boy doesn't get _some_ sex soon, he's going to sprouting tits like nobody's business."

Eleanora immediately hung up the phone. She did _not_ want to talk to that man again.


	58. Chapter 58

Eleanora was waiting the butler at the train station. She was not looking forward to it. Yes, the book that the Undertaker had given her had assuaged her fears some, but she was still scared of the demon. Perhaps it wouldn't have been so bad if she had someone else to wait with, but the young Master was still recovering from his illness and everyone else had been too busy. So it was up to her.

The train pulled in; she straightened herself up and tried to appear as bored as possible. Demons didn't scare her. Nothing scared her. She was as heartless as an ice sculpture, and twice as cold.

People began streaming out of the trains. One of them was the butler, looking around. Their eyes met and she swallowed hard and then stepped forward to meet him. He stepped forward too. Then he began moving quickly and then he was running and before she could say so much as, "welcome back" he had grabbed her waist and was twirling her in the air, smiling.

" _Eleanora_! I'm so _glad_ to see you! Oh, you look just _fantastic_ ; let me get a good look at you…"

He set her down long enough to hold her head in his hands and smile at her. Then he hugged her and began whirling her around again, about three times more before setting her back down.

"How are you? I want to hear all about it," he said and slung his arm around her waist, pulling her close. "It's been far too _long_ ; I feel as if I haven't seen you in _ages_ …"

Eleanora blinked at him. She wondered if he was drunk.

And he was still smiling at her.

"What?"

"Nothing. It's just that I've never seen you like this before."

He laughed and cuddled her closer.

"I've never been so happy to see you before."

"Well, what changed?"

"I've had quite a lot of time to think on this trip," he said. "And seeing you, I've realized something important."

"What?"

"Out of all the men in the four worlds, I am the luckiest."

"Why?"

"Because I married you," he said, cuddling her again, "and you're not Grell."


	59. Chapter 59

Sebastian lost his affectionateness once they had arrived back at the manor. Now he was all business again. His first duties, naturally, were to attend to the sick Ciel.

"The doctor recommended a change of air and a change of attitude," Madam Red said, "which means no chasing murderers."

Ciel wanted to protest, but Madam Red gave him a look and he just fell back into bed.

"Where's Grell?" the Madam asked, turning to Sebastian. "Didn't she come back with you?"

"No, he and Will had to discuss some things," Sebastian said, shaking a thermometer. "He stayed behind, but he'll be back." He sighed, dreading the Reaper's return already.

"Your information concerning these murders should help them considerably," Madam Red said meditatively. "I'm sure that Ciel doesn't need to get involved further. Now the Yard can take care of it." Ciel again tried to protest and again she stopped him. "So now you can take him someplace else! Just like the doctor ordered—a change of air and a change of pace will _certainly_ do him _worlds_ of good."

"But, my lady," Sebastian said, "where would we go?"

Then the phone rang and he went to go answer it.

Meanwhile, Eleanora was sitting in her room. Things had turned out surprisingly well. The butler had been a little odd, but he had recovered and—most importantly—he hadn't killed her yet. The young Master was sick, which significantly reduced his bratty orders and generally she was feeling pretty good with life. Her only real issue was what the Undertaker and the man on the phone had said: that it takes six months to plan a wedding.

She picked up the black demon book and thought about asking it. Maybe it wouldn't have the answer. But then again, the introduction said that it _did_ have all the answers, provided that the question somehow related to demons.

She opened it up—the pages were blank, as usual—and whispered, _"six months to plan a wedding."_

She paused. Maybe it was too broad. She should have been more specific. But how could she have been more specific if she herself didn't know what she was asking?

She turned the page; it had writing on it; the title was **The Matri Verum**.

The book had mentioned the Matri Verum before; she started to read:

 **The Matri Verum is a legal and moral contract, replacing and enhancing a traditional unholy wedding. The original Matri Verum was a preemptive strike against the humans who fell in love with their contracted demons. The humans would order their demons to marry them, and the demons would be forced to the ceremony. However, most of the demons would divorce their human spouses in less than a month and quite a lot of them got married and then divorced several times in one year. The sacred act of marriage was at danger of becoming obsolete, and so a new ceremony was created: the Matri Verum.**

 **An unholy can still marry anyone, but now they have the deadline of a year. If they remain married for that year, it is assumed that the married couple is fated to be together and the Matri Verum is then conducted. This isn't a problem for most demons that are forced to marry humans as the marriage is usually terminated in less than a month or so. However, if a demon and a human remain more-or-less blissfully married for a year, then the Matri Verum occurs. Usually this year is shortened to half of one, as it is assumed that a successful Matri Verum can be planned in six months. By the time the Matri Verum has finished being planned, a year has passed and the ceremony can be conducted in peace. Unholies are not considered truly married until the Matri Verum; the longest time a married demon can go without it is five years. The Matri Verum is also considered legal in all the other four worlds.**

 **After the Matri Verum is over with, the rules of unholy marriage fully apply to the couple. Divorce is nearly impossible and the traditions of the unholy are also expected to be continued by the human spouse.**

So that was it. The Matri Verum was the "real" unholy wedding. Eleanora put the book aside and tried to think. They hadn't been married for a year yet. Maybe they could put it off. But the maximum amount was five years. Then where would she be? Then she would have no choice but to go through with it.

But there was still hope. The Matri Verum hadn't happened yet. She could still divorce him. Divorce him, and there would be no shame on either side. Sure, she might never get another respectable job ever again, but maybe she could move to Siberia, where no one knew that she had ever been married. She still had options. Divorce wasn't the end of the world.

Feeling much better about things, she rose and went downstairs to confront the butler. Now or never. It was best to get it over with as soon as possible. They had a pleasant run, but it was high time for it to be over with now.

The butler was talking on the phone.

"Yes—Yes—Mm-hm…Yes. Yes, I know. Yes, I'll talk to her about it. Well, it might take her a _little_ time, but I'm sure that she'll come around…eventually. Yes. Yes. Yes, I understand." Sebastian looked up and noticed her; he smiled and made a gesture signaling her to wait. "I have to go; she's just come down. Yes, I'll tell her right now. Goodbye. What?" His smile vanished; his eyes widened. " _What_? _NO_ , nothing has _sprouted_! _No_ , I am most certainly not _checking_!" He gave Eleanora another look. "Listen, I have to go. I'll call you back. Okay? Yes. Yes. Goodbye. Love you." He made two kissing noises into the telephone and hung up, turning back to Eleanora with a smile. "Miss Black. I was just about to call you down, actually. There's a matter of importance that I must speak to you about…"

Eleanora took a deep breath. Now or never.

"Likewise," she said, keeping her voice steady.

Sebastian looked surprised, but his smile returned.

"Really? Splendid! Then shall we sit down and talk about it?"

They sat at the kitchen table on opposite sides; the butler made some tea. For a while they just sat there, staring at each other and their cups before Sebastian cleared his throat.

"So, Miss Black, about that thing you wanted to talk to me about?"

"Y-Yes," she said and cleared her throat as well. "You know, we've been married for quite a while…"

Sebastian's eyes gleamed.

"Yes…"

"And we've had some times together; whether they were good or bad that's not for us to say…"

"Yes…"

"And I've been giving this a lot of thought…"

He licked his lips.

"Yes…?"

"And I think that now's the best time to get a divorce," she finished.

Sebastian was so surprised that his face wasn't even able to react.

"…What?"

"A divorce," she repeated. "Now's the best time to get one."

"A…divorce?"

"Yes."

"What— _now_? After all we've been through?" His face caught up with his emotions; he looked horrified. "We can't get a divorce _now_!"

"And why not?"

"Miss Black," he leaned in, "I'm not so sure you know this, but there's a certain ritual that we have to do…"

"The Matri Verum? Yes, I've heard about it. But we haven't been married for a year yet, so there's still time to break it off."

If Sebastian was surprised to learn that she knew about the Matri Verum, he didn't mention it.

"But you don't understand. We _can't_. Not _now_."

"And just why not?"

"Because…" Sebastian hesitated before answering, and when he next spoke, his voice was quick and quiet. "Because the date has already been set and the documents have already been prepared and the clergymen have been called."

 _"WHAT_? Since _when_? _How_? _Why_?"

Sebastian shrugged and leaned back, arms outstretched in helplessness.

"I didn't have anything to do with it, but there's nothing that we can do now. The church has been rented; the invitations have been sent out; the menu is being decided even as we speak…"

"But I can't—Hold on. How can we possibly be married in a church? You're a _demon_ , for god's sakes!"

"I'm a Satanist."

"Holy hell cakes, I'm getting married in a _Satanic church_?"

"It's not as bad as it sounds—"

" _Yes_ , it _is_ just as bad as it damn well sounds; there is no way in _hell_ that I'm getting married to you…"

"Miss Black," Sebastian's eyes flashed dangerously, "I'm sorry, but neither of us have a choice. I've just received the train tickets today; we'll be leaving tomorrow…"

"'Leaving tomorrow?' Just where are you two going?"

Eleanora and Sebastian flinched and looked up. Madam Red was standing in the kitchen, looking at them curiously.

"Where are you going and will it provide a nice change of air and of attitude?"


	60. Chapter 60

Ciel didn't know what the argument about, and didn't have the courage to ask. All he knew was that suddenly Madam Red was bursting into his room and telling him about how he was going to go and get a change of air and then he was at the train station with Sebastian and Eleanora, who weren't talking to each other—again. Ciel was really getting rather tired of all of their arguments; he was tempted to order Sebastian to get him to kiss and make up, but Eleanora probably wouldn't have enjoyed it at all.

They passed all of the trains until they reached the one on the very end: the big black one with the red 666 on it. There was some kind of checkpoint to get on the train; they stood in one of the lines and Sebastian removed a small black book with several papers tucked inside it.

"Documentation, please," the lady at the counter said once they arrived at her. Sebastian gave her the book; she opened it and examined the loose papers, glanced at each one of them in turn, wrote something down in another book and gave them their tickets.

"Enjoy your trip," she said and then they boarded the train.

Eleanora sat across from Sebastian and stared out the window, never looking at him. Ciel couldn't tell if Sebastian was upset at this, but he kind of growled when Ciel tried to sit next to him.

The train pulled out of the station and they were off.

"By the way," Ciel said, his voice hoarse from sickness, "where are we going?"

"You mean you agreed without knowing?" Eleanora said.

"Hell," Sebastian said.

"Hell? As in…as in…as in _your_ Hell? As in…where the sinners go?"

"The very same."

"And why are we going _there_?"

"To get married."

"But I thought that you were already married?"

"This is the _real_ marriage," Sebastian said and Eleanora groaned.

Hours passed. The train steadily continued. Ciel fell asleep on Eleanora's lap and she was just about to fall asleep herself when there was a sudden jolt and she fully awoke.

Where were they? They had just been in England. It had been the morning. Why was it suddenly so dark?

She looked out the window; it was all dark outside, but in the distance, she could see huge cliffs. England certainly didn't have _those_.

She turned to ask the butler what on earth was going on, but her fear froze her into silence and stiffness, as usual.

The butler had turned into a monster. Instead of feet, he had huge bird's talons. His legs had grown lanky and black. Black feathers sprouted on his arms and instead of hands he had claws. Feathers grew on his head instead of hair and they limply fell down around his face, mirroring his hairstyle in the real world. His face had grown black and leathery and his mouth and nose had been replaced by a beak.

"Don't scream," he said when he noticed her staring. "We're passing through the Threshold. All unholies turn into their true forms at this stage."

"The…Threshold?" she squeaked.

The monster nodded once, making his feathers rustle.

"The world between the worlds, if you will," he said and then the darkness outside vanished and light was again restored.

The butler shuddered and his feathers melted back into his skin. The ones on his head fell off and were quickly replaced by real hair. His skin turned white and the beak shrank back into a mouth and a nose and within seconds he was his normal self again.

Eleanora swallowed hard.

"What—How—Who— _What_?"

"That was my true form," Sebastian said, looking out the window again. "I haven't shown it to a human in a long, long time."

"Not even the young Master?" She looked at the sleeping Earl.

"No, not even him. He's seen my partial true form and thinks that it's my real form, and I would like to keep it that way."

"Your…partial true form?"

Sebastian sighed and shuddered again. Wings grew from his back, real, demonic wings; and horns rose from his head. The sight was still terrifying, but he still looked human. He neatly folded his wings back into his body and the horns retracted back into his head.

"That's what the young Lord thinks my true form is, and it would be much appreciated if you don't correct him."

Eleanora didn't answer; she went back to looking out the window. This scenery was also somehow different. It looked too…perfect. The grass was too green. The sky was too blue. Even the trees looked almost candy-like.

"Where are we?"

"I told you—Hell."

"Hell doesn't look like this."

"And I'm sure that you're the resident expert on what Hell looks like."

"But where's all the fire? The sinners burning? The screams?"

"Oh, that's all down in the tenth level. We're in the seventh."

"There's… _levels_?"

"Naturally. If we all lived on the tenth level, none of us would get any sleep."

Several more hours passed and the train stopped in a big city. Sebastian rose up and got the bags down.

"This is our stop; let's go."

Eleanora shook the young Master awake and they stepped out into the seventh level of Hell.

Just like in London, there were people everywhere. Children running around and screaming. Men chatting in groups. Women gossiping with baskets. There was even a group of angels waiting on the platform, trying to get the passersby to denounce their wicked ways and become holy.

They had to go through another checkpoint, the way that they did before getting on the train. Then they stepped out into the city and Sebastian hailed down a cab.

He gave the address to the cabman in a strange language, who gave him a horrified look, but didn't argue, especially when Sebastian gave him half of his fare in advance.

Ciel settled back into Eleanora and they watched the unholy city pass as they left it.


	61. Chapter 61

They arrived at wherever-they-were-headed-to at a very late time. They had left the city—and any other towns—hours ago and were now being driven through miles and miles of open country until they reached a huge gate, where the cab dropped them off.

Sebastian finished paying the fare and waved as the cab left. Then he opened the gate and they slipped inside.

Ciel looked around.

"Where are we? Where are we staying?"

Eleanora suddenly had the horrible idea that the butler was planning on killing them here, where their bodies would never be discovered.

"You can't see it yet," Sebastian said, grabbing the suitcases, "it's a bit aways from here."

"You mean we have to _walk_?"

"No, nothing says that you have to walk," Sebastian said cheerfully. "You could run if you want to."

Several more hours later, a huge house came into view, which only got bigger the closer they went up to it. It was enormous, larger than Phantomhive, larger than Buckingham Palace, larger than anything either Ciel or Eleanora had ever seen before. The architecture was just as ominous as its size; both of them would have cheerfully turned around and walked back to the city to stay in a hotel, but Sebastian just entered as if he owned the place.

There was a man waiting for them in the door. He was handsome in a statuesque kind of way; his face had exquisite features but was entirely blank.

"Welcome home, my Lord," he said in a monotone voice. "They have been expecting you for hours."

"Why didn't anyone come to meet us?" Sebastian asked, which was odd, as the man had said "my Lord" and the only lord around was Ciel. "We've been walking for hours."

The man acted as if he hadn't heard him; he picked up the suitcases.

"They're waiting for you," he said, "in the Main Drawing Room."

"Then that's where we have to go, I suppose," Sebastian sighed and walked down the hallway, going up stairs and then turning into another hallway, with Ciel and Eleanora following closely behind him. They didn't want to get lost in such a creepy house.

Sebastian entered a room and shut the door; it was pitch black. Ciel fought the childish urge to grab someone's hand.

"Hang on; I know the light switch is here somewhere…" Sebastian said and they could hear him feeling the wall for the electricity…

He found it, turned it on, and there was an explosion of lights and shrieks and people.

People everywhere. They surged forward in one giant wave and they grabbed Sebastian and began kissing him and hugging him and tousling his hair and they never stopped talking in that bizarre language which sounded like Latin, leaving Eleanora and Ciel on the side, staring at the scene with their mouths open.

Suddenly the people quieted and released Sebastian, parting like the Red Sea to allow another person to enter their midst. Eleanora's eyes widened. She recognized the woman. She was even prettier in real life…

 _She was the woman from the photo album_.

Her hair was golden and still curled in ringlets. Her eyes were a beautiful sunset pink; her skin glowed and her cheeks were always blushing. Her bust was just the right size—not too large, not too small; she had the perfect hourglass figure; her posture was upright without seeming snobbish…She was perfection itself.

She smiled upon seeing Sebastian; her smile was just like his, only far kinder and lovelier. Sebastian smiled back at her and bowed. She presented her hand and he kissed it. He straightened up and then she kissed him: a kiss on the left cheek, a kiss on the right cheek, a _kiss on the lips_ …Then they hugged. The woman whispered something into his hair and spat three times over his right shoulder. She held him closer and he was hugging her back; both of them were looking rather teary…

It was ridiculous to be jealous. Eleanora bit it back and tried to regain her usual bored face, only this time, she tried to add a little politeness too.

Sebastian released the woman and they began talking to each other in their language. Sebastian then gestured at Eleanora and the woman gasped. Her hands flew to her mouth and then sank back down; she was smiling.

 **"Eleampra,"** she whispered and then took Eleanora's face in her hands. She kissed her in the same way: kiss on left cheek, kiss on right, kiss on lips. Then she whispered another incantation and spat three times over her right shoulder, and then she hugged her.

She was so soft. She smelled like rose soap and some kind of spice. Then Eleanora was released and the woman turned back to Sebastian, talking eagerly with him. Then she seemed to remember something and turned and shouted at the crowd.

 **"Jen!"**

There was a muffled explosion somewhere in the house and then a man burst into the room, coughing and shouting. Eleanora recognized his voice; never mind that he was speaking in a different language. He was still the man on the telephone.

He was extremely tall, taller than Sebastian, with his medium-length black hair tied back with a bit of dull red ribbon. His skin was unnaturally pale, whiter than white, his green eyes gleamed, when he smiled, he showed off his two teeth that looked quite a lot like fangs.

He sauntered up to Sebastian, who bowed and kissed his hand. Then the man did the kissing routine and then he grabbed the butler and began whirling him around in a hug, shouting and stopping every ten seconds to kiss him. Then several arms sprouted from the man's sides and he was able to squeeze the butler practically to death.

Sebastian gasped out some things and the man set him back down. His arms shrank back into his torso and he turned to look at Eleanora, still smiling. He approached her; the temperature dropped several degrees. He was _freezing_!

He slid one of his fingers under her chin and forced her head up, examining her from all sides. Then he nodded, grinned, and whirled onto Sebastian, yelling at him. The people in the group laughed and Sebastian looked embarrassed, but he linked his arm through Eleanora's and they went to every person, where they were then kissed and conversations were discussed.

Things were happening far too quickly for Eleanora to truly comprehend, but she realized that there were two kinds of people in that room. For convenience's sake, she mentally referred to them as the pales and the healthy. The pale people were all like that first man: too-white skin, freezing cold to the touch, incisors that curved backwards. The healthy ones were like Sebastian and the woman: rosy skin, warm and soft, not quite so bony. But despite their physical differences, they all seemed to have several things in common: they enjoyed teasing Sebastian and making him blush; they liked touching her and smiling at her; they liked being hugged and kissed and laughing.

Eventually she had "met" everyone in the room and they were pushed down onto a couch. The young Master was pushed into a chair and the woman brought out snacks on trays and then several people brought out instruments and then they started to sing and dance. Some of the older ones—who Eleanora could only assume were Sebastian's grandparents—didn't dance, but they were the main ones who played the instruments and sang.

The two different groups of people had two different types of dances. The pale ones' dancing was more erotic and chaotic; the healthy ones had very elegant and organized dances. Every now and then another song would come up and they would all dance together. The pale ones would snap their fingers to the music while the healthy ones clapped. Sebastian also clapped, but Eleanora just sat there. She had absolutely no idea what was going on or what they were even celebrating.

Then the tall man grabbed Sebastian's arm and pulled him into the center of the room and forced him to dance and then he went back and grabbed Eleanora and then they were all dancing.

Suddenly an alarm went off and the woman jumped. She said something to the group and ran out of the room; several people followed her. Sebastian and Eleanora were allowed to sit back down on the couch, but they didn't remain there long because the woman returned quickly.

She announced something and everyone cheered and then they all streamed into another room—a huge dining room.

"What's going on?" Ciel whispered to Sebastian as they passed.

"We're going to have dinner now," Sebastian whispered back.

"Good! I'm starving."

"Don't let them hear you say that," Sebastian said, "and don't let them kiss you."

"Why not?"

"Because if they kiss you, it probably means that they're tasting you."

Ciel's mouth dropped open in horror, but he couldn't say anything else because they had all sat down and the woman brought out the first course.

Sebastian and Eleanora were sitting on the far end of the table. Eleanora had lost her appetite, so she was mostly poking at her food, but she still realized that the woman was giving her the choicest parts of the courses. Everyone was talking and laughing and eating—she didn't know that such people could eat so much food. Even the butler next to her could eat as much as them. Every sixth course, the green-eyed man would stand up and make a toast. Eleanora drank as well, only the wine was very strong and very sweet, so for every toast, she mostly just allowed the wine to touch her lips. It didn't taste alcoholic at all.

She was starting to get full, even with her meager mouthfuls, and the courses still kept on coming, becoming more and more elaborate: whole roasted swans swimming in lakes of butter, a huge sow complete with cooked piglets, a peacock with edible feathers, fish caught in the act of jumping out of ice. Eleanora was starting to get a little sick.

"How many courses are there?" she whispered to the butler. He shouted something at the woman, who shouted something back.

"Six hundred and sixty-six," he said calmly and agreed to another glass of wine.

" _Six hundred and sixty-six_?" Eleanora gasped. "Why so many?"

"This is a party; 666 courses is the traditional amount."

Eleanora reduced herself to just tasting each course as it came; if she had attempted to eat as much as the unholies around her, she would have burst. One of the grandmothers started frowning at her and whispered to Sebastian, who said something back to her.

"What is it?" Eleanora whispered. "What's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing," Sebastian said, helping himself to some of her food. "She wanted to know if you were feeling alright."

"Of…course I am. Why would she ask?"

"Because you're not eating anything."

" _Well I can't damn well fit in 666 courses, now can I?_ "

"I can," Sebastian said, and cheered with the rest as the woman brought out the next platter: a fish that looked a bit like a baby whale, only it had several horns and shark-like teeth.

The foods just got more and more exotic. Ciel was also feeling ill and was able to politely reject some of the stranger meals. Eleanora didn't have that luxury; she had to try everything, from the gelatinous thing that looked as if it was still squirming to the giraffe-like monster with several hundred legs.

The meal dragged on. The company grew louder and merrier. The food kept on coming.

Finally they reached the desserts, and there were only six of those. Then everyone rose up; the dinner was finally over with. They went back to the drawing room, where Ciel was again deposited into a chair with a platter of food and forgotten. All the attention was on Sebastian and Eleanora.

Shot glasses were distributed and then another bottle of wine was brought out.

"What's happening now?" she whispered to Sebastian, weaving a bit from her full stomach.

"There weren't enough toasts at dinner," Sebastian whispered back. "We have to compensate."

"You mean we're playing a _drinking game_?"

"Try to keep up," he said and winked.

Ciel was bored, bored and tired and sick. He was pretty sure that he wasn't allowed to eat so much, especially when recovering after an illness. He wondered if he was going to throw up. Maybe if he did, they would cram more food down his throat. He listlessly watched the party as they threw back shot after shot. Eleanora was looking a little pale; she constantly had to grab Sebastian for support.

 _She didn't know where she was or what was happening. The room was spinning around; everyone was laughing and talking which abruptly stopped as she staggered from the group. She was feeling ill, so, so ill; she knew that she shouldn't have done whatever-it-was so much; she couldn't remember how she had gotten this way, but something in the back of her mind told her it was due to that candy-red liquid that she kept on drinking._

 _She staggered down the hallways; constantly falling but someone would always stop her before she hit the floor and then she was turned into a bathroom and she fell before the porcelain throne and the room spun around several more times before she finally vomited._


	62. Chapter 62

Eleanora woke up, feeling extraordinarily odd. Her head was light but her stomach was full. She couldn't move; she felt that even throwing her arm over her eyes would cause her to vomit again.

Sebastian was sitting next to her, looking at her with concern.

"Feeling better?" he asked, smoothing her hair back. "I'm sorry, I should have stopped you earlier."

Eleanora groaned and tried to sit up; Sebastian assisted her.

She was in a beautiful, rich room, lying on the marvelous four-poster bed. Everything glimmered with elegance and wealth.

"Where am I?" she whispered.

"This is my bedroom," he said. "I don't think that you should come down again; I'm sure that you're exhausted. The young Master has already retired."

"I'm sorry I ruined your party…"

"Pssh, if we stopped every party just because someone vomited, we would no longer have parties and go to bed at decent hours," Sebastian said. "We'll continue as before, don't worry. Are you feeling any better?"

Her stomach ached with too much food and her head hurt and everything was still a little fuzzy from the wine. Who knew that a non-alcoholic drink could pack such a punch? But still she nodded and forced a weak smile.

"I'm fine. I think I'll feel better if I just lie here for a while. You go back to your party."

"If you're sure," he said and kissed her forehead. "You rest here and try not to exert yourself. I'll check up on you every half-hour or so. If you need anything, just shout."

Eleanora managed a nod and Sebastian left her side. He opened the door and all of the guests immediately fell into the room, shouting. They scrambled up and fled upon seeing his expression.

"What was that?" Eleanora whispered. "What did they want?"

"Eavesdropping," Sebastian sighed. "There are no people in the world quite like family, are there?"

He smiled at her and closed the door behind him. Eleanora settled down into the bed and closed her eyes. She felt too sick to sleep. She wished that she had a book to read…Maybe the butler had packed something in his suitcase. But that would involve rifling through his things without permission. But maybe he would understand if she was bored out of her skull.

She debated with herself over it for half an hour when there was a knock on the door.

"Come in," she said, thinking that it was the butler, as promised.

It wasn't Sebastian. It was the woman with a tray.

The man was also there too, but he hung back at the door, looking concerned.

"Good evening," the woman whispered, approaching Eleanora.

"Oh! You speak English?"

"Both of us do," the woman said, setting the tray down on the bedside table. "But most of the ones downstairs don't. The Elders, for example. Never got around to learning a language other than their native tongue, I'm afraid."

She uncovered the tray, revealing a glass of ice water and something that looked like a ball of mud held together with seeds and grass.

"I'm so sorry that you're not feeling well," the woman said. "Naturally we should have considered your fragile human health. But we were just so _excited_ about meeting you! We naturally assumed you were family already."

She helped Eleanora sit up and offered her the water. Eleanora drank it tentatively; she could barely manage a sip before her stomach complained.

"Poor thing," the woman said. "This must have been a rough evening for you. But we haven't even been formally introduced yet! I'm Rose, and that right there is Jean."

She pointed to the man behind her, who grinned and blew Eleanora a kiss.

"I daresay you won't want to eat anything in a long, long time," the woman continued, "but I've brought you some medicine anyway. It'll help settle your stomach and promotes good and fast digestion."

Eleanora wondered what medicine Rose was talking about; she cut the mud ball in half and offered it to Eleanora.

"I know that you can't imagine anything worse than eating," she said upon seeing Eleanora's horrified face, "but just manage this one bite and I _guarantee_ that you'll feel ever so much better in no time."

Eleanora winced, but still obediently opened her mouth and the woman popped the medicine inside.

 _Ugh,_ it tasted _awful_. She was right to compare it to mud; it was like eating dirt treated with manure. Some spice had been added to mask its flavor, but that only made Eleanora want to throw it back up all the more. Maybe that's what the woman meant by "fast digestion." There would be less to digest if half of it was missing.

But she somehow managed to keep it down and the woman smiled at her.

"I'll leave this here for you," she said, removing the water glass from the tray and setting it down on the bedside table. "You don't worry your pretty little head about anything. Could we get you anything else before we go? I'm sure that the company downstairs is already missing us…"

"Could I please have…a book?" Eleanora whispered tentatively.

"Why, certainly!" Rose said and strode over to the bookshelf on the room. "Hm…Hm…Hm…What to choose, what to choose?"

"The _Kama Sutra_ ," Jean suddenly said. "Always a fun read."

" _No_ , there'll be plenty of that on the honeymoon."

"The honeymoon!" Jean sighed. "I still can't believe you vetoed my glass room idea."

"Because new couples need privacy," Rose said, giving Eleanora several books, "and they can't get in when they know they're being watched."

"Pffh, as if they'll have any privacy about it afterwards. I won't rest until I get every nitty, nasty detail out of that boy." Jean licked his lips and grinned; his teeth flashed.

"Stop it Jean; you're scaring her. She needs rest, now."

"Certainly," Jean said. "I know better than to toy with an exhausted woman."

They both paused at the door and smiled back at Eleanora, who blushed and stared down at her hands. Jean sniffed.

"Dearest, are you _crying_?"

"I'm sorry," Jean said huskily, wiping away bloody tears, "I just never thought that I would see the day that Sebastian would get married to really sexy lady."

"Jean," Rose said and touched his cheek. They smiled at her again and were just leaving as Sebastian was entering.

"What did they want?" he asked, sitting next to Eleanora.

"Oh, just to check up on me. Rose gave me some medicine."

"Really?" Sebastian's eyes gleamed. "Did you…like her?"

Eleanora thought back.

"Yes, I actually did," she said. "She's a very kind, lovely woman. And Jean seems nice too…in a weird, erotic way…"

"He's a vampire; what did you expect?" Sebastian shrugged.

"A…vampire? _Really_? A _real_ vampire?"

"Naturally. Half of my family is vampiric."

"Does that make _you_ half-vampire?"

"No, I'm all-demon."

"But…how can you be all-demon if your father is a vampire?"

"Because when a child is born, it comes out either a boy or a girl. Same for the unholy. I could have been born a girl, but I was born a boy. Similarly, I could have been born a vampire, but instead I was born a demon." He looked at her. "But, in all honesty, did you _really_ like her?"

"I really did."

"I thought that you might be jealous of her or something…"

"No, I'm not. She's very agreeable."

"And Jean? You liked him too? I know he can be a little off-color sometimes…"

"He seemed interesting."

"That makes me so glad!" he said and kissed her forehead again.

"Really? Why?"

"Why wouldn't it?" he said, smiling at her. "Every son loves knowing that his wife will get along with his parents."


	63. Chapter 63

They were his _parents_! She was so glad that she had masked her jealousy of the woman. How childish would it be if she was envious of her own mother-in-law?

Eleanora felt much better; perhaps it was the relief that Sebastian wasn't a polygamist or maybe the medicine was doing its job; but whatever it was, she read a few pages of one of the books and then fell asleep.

When she woke up, Sebastian was lying beside her, holding her hand in his sleep. She was still feeling as if she had been stuffed full of rocks, but she felt that she could move now. She slowly sat up and pulled her hand away from him. He twitched, mumbled something and instinctively started feeling for her. When he couldn't find her, he woke up.

"Mmm…" he sighed, looking at her and smiling. "Lady…What are you doing?"

"I have to use the necessary," she whispered.

"Hurry back…" he murmured and pointed to where the bathroom was.

Eleanora did her business and returned. Sebastian was now sitting upright, waiting for her.

"By the way," she asked casually, sitting down at the edge of the bed, "what are you doing here?"

"Here? I was sleeping, until you woke me."

"But…why are we in the same bed?"

"…Because this is my room?"

"You could have given me a guest room or something…"

"Eleanora," Sebastian said, looking at her, "does sleeping together in one bed distress you?"

"Well, I wouldn't go _that_ far," she said and stopped. She glared at him. "Since when are you allowed to call me 'Eleanora?'"

"I naturally assumed that, due to current events, I'd be allowed to call my wife her name." He gave her another of his looks. "Is that a problem?"

" _Yes it damn well is a problem_ ," she hissed. "Have you forgotten already how much I hate you? This…matri verum doesn't change anything. You're not allowed to call me Eleanora."

"Oh, really?" he said and suddenly leaned in _really_ close. "And just how are you going to stop me?" he whispered. "Hm? Eleanora?"

"D-Don't call me that…"

"Then stop me…" he murmured and began leaning in, his eyes closed, he pursed his lips a bit…

"RISE AND SHINE, PANCAKES!" Jean shouted, bursting into the room. "Guess who's hungry?! ME! And Rose says that I can't eat until I get at least two more people down here…Am I interrupting something?"

Sebastian's face was still several inches away from Eleanora's; his lips were still pursed.

Jean whistled.

" _Weeell_ , getting a head-start on the honeymoon, are you?"

"Uh…No," Eleanora said, scooting away from Sebastian. "We were just…uh…we were just…"

"Oh, I don't mind," Jean said, jumping on the bed and crossing his legs. "Pray continue at your leisure." He removed a pair of opera glasses from his pocket and began watching them, smiling.

Sebastian just looked at him.

"Oh, don't mind me. Don't mind me at all."

"I don't think so," his son said icily and stood up. Eleanora realized that he wasn't wearing pants; just a long white shirt that barely covered his rear. He entered the bathroom.

Jean sighed and flopped back down on the bed.

"Well, that's that. Are you coming down any time soon? I'm _hungry_."

"Uh…Sure. Just as soon as he's done in there."

"Hurry down! We're having _bacon_!"

Jean stood up and left. Sebastian exited the bathroom several minutes later, wearing a white shirt with black pants, no trace of the butler about him.

"What?" he said upon noticing her looking at him.

"Uh…nothing," she said, and darted into the bathroom before he could ask any more questions.


	64. Chapter 64

Sebastian and Eleanora went downstairs at the same time; he had kindly waited for her while she was getting ready. Rose was in the kitchen, doing what looked like acrobatics. Jean was in the dining room, his head on the table. He looked as if he was asleep.

Rose looked up from cooking upon hearing their footsteps.

"Darlings! Welcome. Are you hungry?"

Eleanora immediately felt ill. Rose must have seen her expression, because she just laughed.

"Oh, my apologies," she said and gave her another of those medicine mud balls. "You don't have to eat anything. Last night must have been quite an experience for you! But you were _such_ a good sport about it all. Wasn't she a good sport about it all, Jean?"

Jean kicked and mumbled something about bacon.

"Anyway, why don't you go and tour the grounds? The gardens are simply lovely," Rose said and put a stack of pancakes on top of a huge tower of the things.

"Yes, why don't we do that?" Sebastian said and began guiding Eleanora away.

"Wait, where are _you_ going?"

"…To tour the gardens with Miss Black?"

Jean chuckled and grinned up at Sebastian.

"What kind of a nut addresses his wife by her last name?"

"Eleanora, then," Sebastian amended, ignoring her glare.

"But you haven't had breakfast yet!" Rose said, bringing out several plates of waffles. With eggs. And toast. And sausages. And half a dozen other things.

"I'm not particularly hungry—" Sebastian started, but Rose grabbed him by the cheek and sat him down in a chair.

"But you're so _thin_ , sweetie pumpkin! How are you planning to grow big and strong, like your daddy?"

"But I already _am_ big and strong."

" _That's_ a matter of opinion," Jean said, already tucking into the bacon. " _No one_ is bigger and stronger and sexier than Jean Michaelis."

" _Quite_ right," Rose said, kissing her husband's forehead.

"But…what about Eleanora?" He gave her a look, clearly indicating, _save me_!

"The poor, thin darling! But she isn't feeling well, so she can skip a meal. _You_ , however…"

"Father!"

"Sorry kid," Jean said and gave him a pitying look. "I can't save you from this even if I tried."

"As if he needs _saving_!" Rose scoffed and gave Sebastian another plate of waffles, intermingled with pancakes, omelets, and what looked to be a steak.

"You go on ahead," Sebastian gave Eleanora a weak smile. "I'll find you…eventually."

Eleanora nodded and escaped the house while she could while Rose gave Sebastian another plate full of food.


	65. Chapter 65

Rose had been right: the gardens _were_ beautiful, like something out of a fairy tale. In fact, _everything_ seemed right out of a fairy tale. Now all Eleanora needed was a Prince Charming to come and get her out of this mess.

She sat down on a swing, overlooking a little stream, and sighed, trying to think. Well, here she was. In Hell. About to get married to a demon. Could things really get any worse?

She shouldn't think that. Because naturally, with _her_ luck, things really would get worse.

They did.

Eleanora wandered around outside for several hours, missing the remainder of breakfast as well as lunch. She was just thinking about missing dinner (the thought of food still repulsed her) when she noticed Sebastian walking up to her.

"Lady," he said, "there you are. I've been looking everywhere."

"What is it?" she sighed.

"Mother wants you," he said. "In fact, everyone does."

"Really? Why?"

"She said it's a…'womanly matter.'"

 _"Ohhh shit,"_ she thought but still followed the butler back to the mansion. Eleanora knew that 'womanly matters' were never anything good. She wanted to ask Sebastian about said 'womanly matters,' but womanly matters were womanly matters for a reason: they involved women, and that was it. Besides which, men always got weird whenever womanly matters came up, regardless of their species.

Sebastian's family was waiting in the living room, trying to collectively teach the young Master how to play a card game. It wasn't working out, partly because they were all saying different things to him, and partly because half of them weren't even speaking English.

"Oh, look; she's here!" Rose said, looking up, and immediately all of the women in the group charged at her, screaming and hugging. Sebastian wisely stepped aside to allow this, and was immediately grabbed by his father.

" _Look_ who dropped by!" he said, pointing to a couch. "Our old _family friend_!"

Sebastian sighed.

"Hello, Undertaker," he said. "How nice to see you again."

The Undertaker cackled and rubbed his hands together.

"Likewise," he grinned. "Now, shall we begin?"

"With what?"

"With the Macarena, genius," Jean said. "While the women are out doing their thing, _we're_ going to stay here and have your pre-bachelor party!"

"…What does the Macarena have to do with that?"

"What _is_ the Macarena?" Ciel whispered to the Undertaker.

"It's a song that won't be around in the human world until one hundred years from now," he said.

"And it's horrible," Sebastian said.

" _And_ it's the greatest thing since pasta met cheese!" Jean scowled down at him. "Trust me, you'll agree with me when you see your wife doing it. _But_ that's not important. Ladies, why are you still here? This is a _man_ -only meeting! Can we have a little _space_ , please?"

"Why, certainly," Rose giggled and kissed his forehead. But as she and the other chattering women left, escorting Eleanora to another room, Ciel noticed that she was smirking at her husband, who was smirking right back. He turned to ask the Undertaker why, but he was busy.

Busy placing a red mark on a wine bottle.


	66. Chapter 66

The women pulled Eleanora into another room—a huge lady's boudoir—and sat around her, talking incessantly in their language, examining her hands, stroking her hair, looking at her teeth; a couple even touched her chest. Eleanora had no idea what was going on, but she hoped that it would end soon.

After a few minutes of this, Rose stood up and clapped her hands. All attention was immediately on her. She made a short speech in Avelatani, which Eleanora of course couldn't understand, but it sobered up the women, because after she had finished, they all mumbled something and crossed themselves. At least, Eleanora _thought_ that they crossed themselves; they kissed their fingers, touched their left and right sides with the kissed hand, and finished it with marking an infinity sign on their stomachs.

Then they took Eleanora and guided her over to another room, this time a huge bathroom with a bathtub the size of an Olympic swimming pool.

"What's going on?" Eleanora whispered to Rose as the women took her clothes off.

Rose smiled at her.

"This is called the 'purification ceremony,'" she said. "It starts now and doesn't end until the wedding."

"Uh…isn't that quite a long time?"

"The ceremony," Rose continued as if she hadn't heard her, "is a cleansing ritual that erases the past sins of the couple. Hugs, kisses, sexes, all are wiped clean after this ritual is conducted."

"Wh-What happens during the ritual?"

"First, one is cleaned as thoroughly as possible," Rose said, gesturing to the bathtub, "which is what we're going to do now. Then, the woman has to cover herself up around her husband so that he can never actually look at her until the wedding day. Understand?"

"Well, yes, but… _why_?"

"Because in ancient times," Rose said, testing the bathtub water, "it was believed that a woman can withstand any form of mental torture, but _physical_ torture was another matter entirely."

"Yes, and what greater form of torture than not being able to show yourself off to your man?" one of Sebastian's aunts said, causing the English-knowing women to giggle.

"On the flip side," Rose said, smiling, "it was thought that a man can stand any form of _physical_ torture, but not mental. Once these two people have gone through these challenges, it was thought that their suffering cleansed their past sexual sins, preparing them for marriage."

"It's an ancient tradition, and one that all of us have gone through," another aunt said. The first aunt translated and the other ladies nodded.

Eleanora got into the bathtub, shivering a bit at coming into contact with the warm water.

"But while _I'm_ doing all of _this_ , what's _Sebastian_ doing?"

This was translated and the women grinned.

"Don't you worry," Rose said, dunking Eleanora's head into the water, "he's suffering for you as well."


	67. Chapter 67

Bachelor parties—or pre-bachelor parties, as the case was—were overrated. No one was really doing much of anything. Nothing scandalous was going on, except for perhaps drinking and gambling, which is what they all did on a regular basis anyway. Sebastian didn't see why they had to send the women away. He wondered what they were doing and whether Eleanora was alright.

The Undertaker poured him another glass of wine.

The topics discussed weren't at all secretive. They talked about business and they talked about life and they talked about what they were going to do to Jean Michaelis if they learned that he was cheating. Nothing unusual.

The Undertaker poured him another glass of wine.

The young Master was looking bored, and Sebastian couldn't blame him. He was bored as well, and he could understand what they were talking about. He could hardly imagine what it was like to listen to a bunch of men talk without knowing the language.

The Undertaker poured him another glass of wine. Then he shook the bottle and raised it triumphantly over his head.

"It's _done_!" he shouted. "He finished it!"

Then all of the men stood up with cheers and shouts and began slapping Sebastian on the back for some reason, making him almost choke on his last swallow of wine.

"What is it?" he said. "What's going on?"

Jean stood in front of him, smirking.

"Congratulations, me boy," he said. "The wedding is now officially on!"

More cheers and calls for more wine. Someone even offered Ciel a glass, which he declined. He had seen the effects on Eleanora and didn't want that to happen to him.

Sebastian blinked.

"What do you mean, 'the wedding is officially on?' It's been officially on for months now!"

"Ah, but _now_ there's no turning back!" Jean grinned down at his son. "Your purification ritual has just started!"

"MY _WHAT_?!"

"Happy purification ceremony!" Jean shouted and the men started throwing confetti.

Sebastian scoffed.

"That's _ridiculous_. The purification ceremony was dropped centuries ago. It's old hat, now."

"That's precisely what we _wanted_ you to think," Jean grinned. "Think of it: if you had known that it would happen, would you have agreed to spend an evening with us?"

Sebastian turned pale.

"…It's not true," he said uncertainly. "It didn't happen."

"Shall we give it an ol' test try?" Jean said and began pacing the room. "Your wife's name?"

Sebastian scoffed again and smirked.

"Eleanora Michaelis."

"Maiden name?"

"Black."

"Occupation?"

"Maid to the Earl of Phantomhive."

"Eye color?"

Sebastian, still smirking, opened up his mouth to answer, then paused. He actually had to think about it for a moment before replying.

"G-Green?"

" _EGH! Wrong_!" Jean said, giggling sadistically.

"'Wr- _wrong_?'" Sebastian looked stricken. "Then…is it…brown?"

"Wrong! Hair color?"

This time he looked determined.

"…Blonde."

Nobody answered him; he started to look concerned.

"Then…brown?"

Jean started giggling again.

"Red? Silver? The young Master's strange weirdness?"

" _Hey_!" Ciel said, but Jean just laughed and slapped Sebastian's shoulder, who pressed his hands against his head.

"What's wrong? Why can't I _remember_ her?"

"This is the purification ceremony, cupcake!" Jean said. "We all had to go through with it, didn't we, gents?"

This was translated to the ones who didn't know English, and everybody nodded.

"Until your wedding day, you're not allowed to look at her, talk to her, touch her, or anything," Jean said. "Now, who's up for a _bath_?"

"But this is ridiculous! I can't even remember her _voice_!"

"Poor sweetie baby cakes," Jean said, "but I probably would have more sympathy if I hadn't had to do it myself. Welcome to manhood! Did anyone bring the bubble bath?"

One of Sebastian's uncles explained what was going on to Ciel as the men bathed Sebastian. He had never seen such a thorough cleaning—they even washed each individual _eyelash_. Ciel was glad that he was a human. Being an unholy looked really complicated. Too many rules and all.


	68. Chapter 68

The men left the bathroom several hours later, each one of them smelling strongly of bubbles and bath salts. They had been very thorough and dignified when cleaning Sebastian, but after that, they decided that it would be a waste to just drain the huge bathtub and had a water fight. There were water pistols involved and everything. Ciel was still soaking wet and he hadn't even entered the tub.

Dinner was ready and they all sat down. The women were already there. Ciel wondered where Eleanora was and who the big black blob of clothes on the far side of the table was. Then he realized that they were one and the same.

 _Everything_ was covered. Ciel couldn't find a single area of Eleanora's skin, or even any trace that she ever had any to begin with. Black gloves, long trousers and long-sleeved tops, layers upon layers of skirts and shirts, several layers of cloth on her face so that even her mouth wasn't visible as she ate. Her stomach had settled by this time, so she thought that it would be alright to eat a little something.

Rose had been right when she talked about "physical torture." She was _sweltering_. Maybe it would have been fine with just the usual five or so layers, but, in total, she was walking around in _forty-six_. Apparently the unholy didn't do anything by halves.

Rose had very kindly opened every window and turned on some strange, electrical appliance that she called "air conditioning" (as if air needed to be conditioned), which significantly cooled everything down, but that didn't change the fact that she was roasting. She felt as if she was being boiled alive in her own sweat.

Plus the butler wouldn't stop looking at her. Rose had said that the men had given him a certain type of wine which made him forget almost everything about her. Apparently he still remembered _her_ , and all the arguments they had and the fights they got into, but he didn't remember her face or her voice or any specific details. This was his cleansing ritual, and Rose made it _very_ clear to her that she wasn't allowed to speak when Sebastian was in the room, and it was probably better if she just ignored him completely.

"Tantalize him, honey," Rose said, winking. "There's nothing that gets men more sexually frustrated than being ignored."

"But why would I want him to be sexually frustrated?"

"For the _honeymoon_ , darling! _Trust_ me, a man who hasn't had _any_ affection in three months is _bound_ to make the nights as hellish as possible!"

Eleanora was staring to understand unholy slang; "hellish" meant the same as "heavenly" did to humans.

She didn't _want_ to "tantalize" him. She could already ignore him as good as the rest of them; she didn't _want_ to have anything to do with him at night. But wait! Maybe…he was already filled with demonic lust? After all, hadn't she mostly-ignored him for a year? Maybe he was already anxiously waiting for the honeymoon!

Eleanora bent her head and picked at her food. She dreaded to know what he was thinking about at this very moment.

 _"No, but what_ is _the color of her hair?"_ Sebastian thought, frowning at her. _"And what did her voice sound like? I remember she had a good singing voice, but I can't remember what it sounded like at all…"_

Sebastian sighed and picked at his food. It was going to be a long three months.


	69. Chapter 69

It might have taken six months to plan a wedding, but as they had procrastinated, the wedding plans had to be conducted far more quickly. Sebastian didn't help matters, as he said that he and Eleanora would be more than satisfied with just quickly signing the traditional two contracts. He stopped saying this after Jean told him that, if he wasn't going to have a traditional wedding, he also wasn't going to get a traditional honeymoon.

Ciel was surprised at all the effort that had to be done in order to have a wedding. Even the men worked nonstop—Ciel had always thought that planning a wedding was a woman's job, but all the men in the family did as much work as the women did.

"Of course we have to work," Sebastian said, surprised when the young Master asked him. "If we didn't help with the wedding, we wouldn't be invited."

If Ciel had been in another place at another time, he might have argued this logic, but as he was still in Hell, he didn't dare to. He didn't even dare complain, which, had they been at home, he would have done vast amounts of.

For one thing, everyone was responsible for their own meals. Dinner was eaten as a family, but for breakfast and lunch and snacks, that was on each individual person. Eleanora had had some trouble with this; it was difficult for her to just go down into the kitchen and make herself something without permission, but for Ciel, it was absolute torture. He didn't know how to cook, and he was also expected to wash his own dishes after himself, which he most certainly was _not_ going to do. Mostly he survived on tinned biscuits, and crammed himself full of food at dinner. Once or twice he asked Sebastian to make him something; both times his butler was pulled away for more wedding preparations.

Ciel had no idea that there was so much that needed to be planned. The men once spent three hours deciding on the type of glove that Sebastian should wear, and then, after lunch, rethought their decision and spent _another_ three hours on gloves before they decided that their first choice was really the best one. They spent a whole day on fooling around with Sebastian's hair, trying to decide how to part it.

"What if we brushed it back?" Jean said, pulling Sebastian's hair away from his forehead.

"Ugh, no; I've always hated that look," Sebastian said.

"What if we keep some of his bangs behind his ears?" an uncle suggested. They tried that; it looked too asymmetrical, and when they tried it with both ears, it called too much attention to the hearing appendages.

"What if we gave him a little ponytail?" someone else said. They tried it, and Jean quickly shot it down.

"It looks too weak," he said in disgust, staring at the tiny thing. "If a man wears a ponytail, it should be long and flowing—strong, like a man." He shook his head, sending his own ponytail flying around, to demonstrate.

"Why would a man even _want_ a ponytail?" Sebastian sighed. He was getting rather sick of all the criticisms of his hair.

"Isn't it _obvious_? So that when he's alone and bored he can play with it, give it braids and pigtails and all that."

"My Lord, could you kindly go and ask Eleanora what hair she likes on me? Because, you know, she actually _remembers what I look like_?" He glared at his father; he never got over being tricked like that.

Ciel accordingly went and asked and returned in about five minutes.

"She says that you should wear a sack on your head and a rope around your neck."

Laughter all around, and after the preliminary congratulations that Sebastian found himself a real keeper (the sassy, independent ones were always the best, after all) they stopped and actually considered the suggestion.

"…You know, it might actually work," Jean suddenly said. "I mean, we would have to poke holes in the bag so that he could see and all, and then, maybe…"

" _Ooh_! Rose has some _floral print bags_! They would look so _festive_!"

Now everyone was getting excited.

"Go and see if they have black flowers on them," Jean said. "You'd look so _cute_!"

"I am _not_ wearing a _sack_ over my head on my _wedding day_ ," Sebastian growled.

"Why the heaven not? It would solve so many problems! And if it was long enough, you could have your own mini-veil! Man, we should have asked your wife a _long_ time ago!"

This idea was very quickly shot down by Rose, and that was the end of it.

Occasionally they would go into town to try on suits and sample wine and wedding cake (the last part was Ciel's favorite), but sometimes the men would find Ciel irritating for some reason and would tell him to go help the women.

The women also talked a lot and did a lot of things which Ciel found ridiculous. They once spent three days trying to teach Eleanora how to _walk_ properly—as if she needed lessons. She had been walking her whole life, but apparently there was a certain way to walk down the aisle. Ciel wondered what she would do with this information after the wedding was over.

"All this planning stuff makes me never want to get married," he once grumbled to his maid.

Eleanora paused in what she was doing to consider this.

"Oh, I don't think that _marriage_ itself is all that bad, as long as you get married to the right person," she said. "It's just the wedding that's hell…Pun not intended, if there's a pun in there."

"Then I'm never having a wedding," he said decidedly.

"My Lord, if you never have a wedding, you're never going to _get married_ ," Sebastian said once he heard this. "No woman can get married without a wedding."

"I don't see why not."

"…It's like having a cake without the icing. It'll still taste good, but it won't quite be the same."

And suddenly Ciel understood.

The weeks passed, and several days before the actual wedding date, the men unceremoniously kicked Ciel out again.

"But _why_?" he said.

"We have things to discuss," Jean said seriously. "Big, _manly_ things."

"I _am_ a man!"

"Not until you're twenty," Jean said and shut the door.

Ciel stood around for a bit, just to see if they would change their minds, and when they didn't, he went over to the wing where the women were.

They were all crowded around Eleanora, excitedly doing her makeup and her hair. They were arguing about what hairstyle she should have and how she should make her eyes really stand out from her face (even though she would be wearing a veil throughout the whole ceremony, but…logic).

"My Lord!" Rose said, upon realizing he was there. "You're just in time. You're about to witness the single-most important event in wedding planning—choosing the wedding dress!"

Ciel didn't say anything, as even he knew that the wedding dress was important, although he wondered why Rose said that it was the single-most important event, as according to every single person, _every_ thing was the single-most important event, from the guest list to the napkins to the man-perfume the groomsmen would wear.

In all honesty, Ciel actually didn't particularly want to witness the wedding dress tryouts, as man clothes bored him to tears, let alone female outfits. But nevertheless, he obediently followed the women into the other room, wondering what top-secret man-business the males were discussing. It was probably something really important and dirty if he wasn't allowed to be there.

"Now if she starts crying, apologize immediately," Jean said seriously. "Even if you're in the most awkward situation imaginable, you apologize. If she gets angry with you, you're wrong. Remember, this is the _woman's_ area of expertise, and by wrongly assuming that you're in the right, you're going to get heaven later. She will _never_ let you forget it, and she will _always_ say that _you_ humiliated _her_."

"Is all this really necessary?" Sebastian sighed.

"Trust me, this will save your life more times than you can count," Jean said. "Now, after you're done picking out your first couch, she's going to want to move on to the chairs…"

Ciel had naturally assumed that wedding dresses were in one piece. After all, wasn't that how most dresses worked? Apparently not in Hell, as the huge ballroom was filled with half-naked mannequins, each one wearing either a shirt top or a skirt bottom, never both at the same time. That was odd in and of itself, but what really made it strange was that everything was black. Not a scrap of white in the room.

Eleanora looked around, confused.

"I'm sorry," she finally said, "but how is this going to work?"

"Oh, it's very simple, dear," Rose said. "You pick out a top that you like, and then a skirt that you like, and we'll see the effect! And if you like the top but not the skirt, we change the skirt but not the top, and so on and so forth. It's so much more efficient than just being a whole dress. Besides, after the general shape has been decided on, you can add decorations and accessories and all that as you see fit!"

It took forever. Ciel even fell asleep halfway through it; that was how boring it was. They woke him up to get his opinions on the final result, and even though the dress was black and lacked decoration and Eleanora looked like a stressed-out corpse, he had to admit that it was fantastic.

The top was a sleeveless, low-cut thing in the shape of a heart which flattered her bust and her figure—things Ciel didn't even know she had. The dress was long and princess-like, with a flowing train behind it. Eleanora seemed to glide as she moved around in it; the fabric didn't even rustle as she walked in that special way.

"Well? What do you think?"

Ciel nodded.

"It's very nice," he said and shared a look with Eleanora. He didn't say anything more, but he knew that she could tell that he meant it.

Everyone cheered and applauded and shook hands. Everyone told Eleanora at least ten times that she was an absolute succubus. She smiled and nodded and shook hands and laughed with the rest of them, but at night, Ciel found her alone in her room, crying.

"Uh…Lady?" he said, alarmed. He had never seen Eleanora cry before. In fact, he had never actually _thought_ that she could cry.

"It's nothing, my Lord," she whispered, wiping away her tears. "It's just that…I guess that I always thought that…If I ever had to get married…I would do it in a white wedding dress."


	70. Chapter 70

The date of the wedding—December 13th—continued to approach and didn't stop until it would actually occur tomorrow. Everyone went to bed early—Eleanora couldn't sleep. She stayed awake and sat by the window, thinking.

Tomorrow she would be married. Permanently. No chance of divorce, no chance of living a life outside of Sebastian, no chance of ever finding someone who would truly love her. She couldn't even imagine that—spending the rest of her life married to a demon incapable of emotion.

Maybe there was still a chance. Maybe she could still somehow get out of it. But how?

She could run away. She could run and keep on running and never look back. Sebastian would find another wife. His family would find another girl to gush over. The Earl of Phantomhive would find another maid. There would always be another.

She knew that running away was cowardly. She had always hated people who tried running away from their problems. But she couldn't find another solution. She couldn't talk to anybody; they would all just say that it would get better and that eventually she would learn to love him, and if she didn't seem convinced, they would send her down the aisle with a gun jammed into her back—just like the first time that she was married.

No other solution. No other solution. It was like she wasn't even in her body anymore; someone else was moving; she could even almost see her body moving on its own accord, as if she was seeing herself through someone else's eyes. Now she was standing up…Now she was getting dressed…Now she was walking towards the door…Now she was in the hallway. No other solution. No other solution.

Now she was walking down the hallways…Now she was passing a room…Now the floorboard squeaked and someone inside the room said sharply,

"Who's there?"

Shit, the butler. She immediately stepped back and hid in a shadowy wall. He didn't seem to come and investigate; she just heard him sigh. And then she heard Rose say,

"Can't sleep?"

"Hm? No. I'm just…thinking."

"About tomorrow?"

"Yes."

"Are you dreading it or anticipating it?"

Her voice was soft, gentle. Eleanora almost couldn't tell that it belonged to a demon. Almost. All demons were professional liars; the whole Hell was built up on professional liars; she hated everyone that had come from it.

Sebastian hesitated a bit before answering.

"…I'm actually not sure," he said. "I mean, I thought that marriage was between two people who madly loved one another…like you and Father. But I and Eleanora…She hates me. I remember clearly how much she hates me."

"But do you hate her?"

He hesitated again.

"…I'm not sure," he repeated, "but I think—I _think_ —that I am not entirely adverse to her."

Eleanora felt as if she was going to die. If there was one thing worse than hearing that somebody hated you, it was hearing that they loved you. Or didn't precisely hate you. It was hard to tell with demons.

"It'll get better, sweetheart," Rose murmured, just like Eleanora predicted that she would. "You'll learn to like her."

"And what if I don't?"

"You've been married for a year; most unholies would have murdered their human spouses by now. That proves that you're destined to be together…Or you could talk to your father about it. I'm sure he'd talk about psychology and unholy brains and all that."

Sebastian sighed.

"Nervous?"

"…A bit."

"That's understandable. I was so nervous at my own wedding, I thought that I was going to drop dead!" Rose laughed. "I even considered running away before the thing actually happened. Just nerves, happens to everyone. But just wait and see: it'll be the best day of your life."

"I thought that one says that to the bride?"

"Everybody does, but it's not really true. The bride is usually too stressed out to fully enjoy her own wedding day. The best days of a woman's life come afterwards, but I think that a man should try to enjoy his wedding to the fullest. You only really get one, you know— _especially_ as you're an unholy."

"…But I don't think that I'm ready for it." He sighed. "How can I know if I'm going to be a good husband or not?"

"You've just proven it to yourself," Rose said. "A good man will be uncertain about whether he can make a girl feel like the queen that she is…A bad one will already think that he's done his job."

Eleanora heard Rose kiss her son.

"Get some sleep," she said. "You've got a big day tomorrow."

"Mm," Sebastian said and then Eleanora heard Rose leave.

She couldn't resist; she peeked behind the corner to look at Sebastian. He was standing by the window, staring up at the stars, just like she had been doing. The only difference between them was that he was smiling.

Not his weird, too-perfect smile; not his arrogant little smirk, but a real, genuine smile, as if he was anxiously waiting for tomorrow but realizing that this moment was just perfect as well.

Eleanora suddenly felt so, so tired. She realized somewhere in the back of her mind that, even if she did somehow make it off the property, there were several miles of absolute nothingness before a real town. She would get caught and then the whole wedding—all that planning—would be destroyed because everyone would know that the bride had tried to escape it.

She didn't want to think anymore; she just wanted to sleep. She turned and went back upstairs and flopped down on the bed, not even bothering to change out of her clothes. This was it. Her last night of true freedom. She wanted to cry, but didn't have any more tears left.

 _"So this is the end,"_ she thought and then she fell asleep.


	71. Chapter 71

Eleanora was woken up early and taken downstairs to get dressed for the big day. All of the men had gone to the church early; the house was eerily silent.

Breakfast was just several slices of toast; no one had much of an appetite anyway. They only ate to avoid passing out during the ceremony.

Eleanora was bathed just as thoroughly as she had been on her second night in Hell. She was dressed in the specially-prepared underclothing; her hair and makeup was done, and then they brought out the corset and the crinoline.

Eleanora knew that it was coming; Rose had specifically prepared her for it, but she had thought that it would be just a particularly fancy corset and a crinoline that was slightly more elegant than usual. She was wrong.

It was made entirely out of black metal and looked like an uglier, misshapen form of the wedding dress. It was so huge that Eleanora actually had to be lifted up and then placed into it, where Rose and the other women began _screwing her into it_.

The whole process didn't take very long, and afterwards, the metal thing looked precisely like the wedding dress, same shape and form and everything, but it was _heavy_. Eleanora wondered how she would be able to manage walking in it, especially in high-heels.

"How am I supposed to move?" she asked Rose as the other women got the wedding dress.

"Oh, it's not as bad as it seems to be," Rose assured her. "Besides, you'll thank us later. The ceremony takes several hours to conduct and it's _all_ standing. If you just bend your knees a little bit, the crinoline will rest on the floor and will be able to support your weight."

There was something in her eyes that made Eleanora nervous. Perhaps she knew. Perhaps she knew that she had tried to run away last night. Perhaps the metal was a preemptive measure.

But it didn't matter, because then the dress was pulled on over her.

Say what one will about the metal underskirt, it made the dress look even more fantastic. Plus, decorations had been added: roses and beads and Eleanora had been given various accessories: gloves and expensive jewelry and the like. The effect was so wonderful, it almost didn't seem to matter that the dress was in the traditional unholy black.

She was finally ready; she was left alone for several hours while the women prepared themselves. Eleanora tried to think of a way to escape and couldn't. She still felt absolutely exhausted; it was as if her brain had been wiped clean. All she could realize was dread.

Eventually, they were all ready and they went to the church: a massive, threatening, Gothic building with demons sneering down at Eleanora and monsters with twisted faces having intimacy with leering succubi. It wasn't the most welcoming environment.

She was taken to a dark room where she would wait to be called out. Half-an-hour later, there was a knock on the door. It was the Undertaker.

"Hope you don't mind," he whispered, "but as you don't have any relations that we know of, I'll be giving you away."

"I don't care," she said in a cold, dead voice. Nothing mattered anymore. She didn't feel anything.

Some strange variation on "Here Comes the Bride" started playing and the Undertaker slung his arm through Eleanora's.

"This is your day, sweetheart," he whispered. "Enjoy it to the utmost."

Then the door opened into blinding white light and Eleanora took her first step down the aisle.

THE END

 _Author's Note:_

 _Thank you all for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. If you did, please look up my other stories!_

 _I'm cutting this one off short because I have some other stories which I have previously neglected. As soon as I finish them, I'll write a sequel if people want to see one. Thanks again!_


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